The Luke Titan Chronicles: Books 1-4: The Luke Titan Chronicles Boxset

by David Beers

  Christian saw that nothing restrained him. He sat on his chair with as much freedom to move as Luke, except for the fact that Luke had a gun and he didn’t.

  “I’m impressed.”

  Christian blinked hard, trying to shove the pain in his face away.

  “How did you know I’d come?”

  “You look like a fucking bum,” Christian said as he did a once over Luke’s clothes. His ex-partner was wearing jeans and tennis shoes—clothing that didn’t even exist in the stores Luke previously frequented.

  “You’ve forced me to make adjustments, Christian … How did you know I’d come tonight?”

  “I didn’t. I thought it was a good probability.”

  “And yet, you didn’t tell anyone?”

  Luke’s entire body was still, nearly a stone statue. Christian sat opposite him with a swollen, bloodied face, his mouth open so that he could breathe.

  Luke smiled. “Veronica really took a stance today, no?”

  Any pain Christian felt disappeared at the mention of her name. “Fuck you.”

  “So much anger. Have you found no peace in the past two years? Even when you chased me to my home in South America, did you see me show any disturbance? No, Christian. It’s not healthy, walking around with a weight like that on your back. You’ll eventually end up stooped over unable to move.”

  “Why are you here?” Christian said.

  “I wanted to palaver. I think it might be beneficial for both of us to discuss what comes next.”

  “You’re so fucked and you don’t even know it. You attacked four FBI buildings yesterday, Luke. What do you think comes next? Whatever plans you’ve created, they’re gone now. The body count is over 200. Waverly will enlist the fucking army if he needs, but you’re done. Completely.”

  Luke nodded and frowned slightly. He didn’t look away. “That’s possible, though not probable.”

  “Then what comes next, Luke? You think you’re so in control of all this, except if I was faster and stronger, you’d be dead right now.”

  “But you’re not.”

  Luke stood and walked to the hotel window, his left shoulder facing Christian so that the gun was on the other side of Luke’s body.

  “Do you remember my purpose, Christian?”

  “No one can forget anything that crazy.”

  “What is it?” Luke asked.

  “Fuck you.”

  “There’s no need for such crude language, Christian. It doesn’t fit you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Luke chuckled. “Another question, perhaps. How much of my life do you understand? Have you seen when I was put on this quest? Do you see that I have no choice in the matter?”

  “I see that you’re insane, Luke. That’s all. There’s nothing else to you.”

  Luke shook his head. “You don’t believe that and we both know it.”

  Neither spoke for a few seconds, Luke’s words settling over Christian’s mind. We both know it. Christian wouldn’t say anything, and he might try to fight the assertion consciously, but subconsciously? Where the truth always resided deep inside its pool? What would it say?

  “My purpose is disorder in the face of God. You’re a tool in that purpose. A very good tool,” Luke said. “Waverly will come after me now, with more resources and focus than ever before. That’s fine. It’s you and I that concerns me. Where we go from here.”

  Christian was silent, his eyes looking at the empty chair in front of him. His mind had already gone through every possible escape scenario, but each one ended with a bullet inside him. If he sat here, he would make it out alive; Luke wasn’t going to kill him. If Christian tried to run, though? Well, Luke might have to make more ‘adjustments’.

  “Christian, I recognize the seriousness of what I’ve done. I declared war on the federal government. I intend to continue waging that war until you do what I ask of you.”

  “And what’s that, Luke?”

  “You’re going to kill Veronica, Tommy, and Waverly. Your mother can live, but the rest of them have to die at your hand.”

  Christian’s eyes widened, and for a moment complete shock kept him from doing anything else. Then, he started laughing. Loud, originating from deep within his chest.

  “You’re crazier than anyone imagined!” Christian nearly shouted the words, his face bright with pain, but he couldn’t help himself. It was all too funny, Luke showing up here thinking Christian might even consider his outrageous demand.

  “Slow down. Think about it. You might see things my way.”

  Christian’s laugh died as his mind focused, a single ray of intensity drilling down on Luke’s words.

  “There you go,” Luke said without looking away from the window. “Two hundred people died yesterday. That attack was more for show than actual effectiveness. What comes next will be worse, and that’s going to weigh on you, Christian. Remember how you felt when Lucy Speckle started killing people you knew? Everyone told you it was ridiculous to think you were responsible, yet you couldn’t shake it. Really, that’s what gave me my opening, why that other version of yourself still lives somewhere in your head. Your guilt made you hate Lucy, and that allowed me to make you kill her.”

  Luke turned his head to Christian.

  “And now look at where we are. We’re almost the same, you and I. You’re going to have to embrace my purpose as your own if you want to see your way out of this.” He turned so that he faced Christian completely. “Once those three people are dead, by your hand, I’ll turn myself in, Christian. How does that sound?”

  Christian looked into Luke’s brown eyes and he saw light in them. Not the cold, nearly dead stare that he so often gave—but he saw something close to glee.

  “We’re going to kill you, Luke. That’s the only sound I hear. You dying. Your last breaths struggling out of your caved in chest. I hear your death rattle.”

  “It’s not my rattle you’re hearing, Christian. But you’ll know that soon enough.”

  Christian didn’t look away as Luke stepped forward; he knew what came next, and though fear naturally rested in him, he wouldn’t give Luke the satisfaction of seeing it.

  CHAPTER 11

  C hristian woke up, slumped in the same chair. His skull hurt, as well as his face. Luke had put him in a chokehold until …

  Luke.

  His eyes snapped open as everything came back to him, the fog of unconsciousness whisked away.

  Christian stood up, but black spots dotted his vision and he grew lightheaded. He grabbed onto the chair’s arm and bent over, trying to gather himself.

  He took two deep breaths, his eyes scanning the room as he did. He didn’t see his weapon anywhere and knew Luke must have taken it.

  “Tommy,” he said through a nose full of snot and blood.

  He straightened slowly, doing his best to keep from collapsing. Finally feeling like he had control of himself, Christian walked to the hotel door and into the hallway. He looked both ways but there was no point, Luke was gone.

  Or, with Tommy.

  That sped him up. Christian ran down the hallway, reaching Tommy’s door and leaning against it. Black spots danced along his vision again; he had to focus.

  You don’t have a weapon, and you’re going to go in there and try to save Tommy? That’s your plan?

  What else was there? He couldn’t very well call this in; by the time anyone arrived, Tommy would be dead.

  You will be, too, if you go in there now.

  Christian ignored his thoughts, just glad they weren’t his mother standing in the hallway talking to him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flashing Tommy’s key against the scanner. The card reader flashed green and Christian stepped inside.

  “Tommy!”

  “In here.”

  Relief washed over Christian, cold but pleasant water breaking through the borderline panic which held him. He moved across the room—larger than his own as it was handicapped equipped—and found Tommy in his b
ed, exactly as Christian had left him.

  “He went to you, too, huh?” Tommy asked. “Looks like I got off easier.”

  CHRISTIAN LOOKED at Michael Hanson sitting across from him. Christian’s face was still bruised, swollen—looking like he’d gone five or six rounds in a boxing ring before being knocked out.

  It was 8:00 in the evening, and while Christian had no problem working these hours, he imagined Dr. Hanson was here only because the Director told him to be.

  He no longer saw his old therapist, Melissa. There was no big breakup, no shouting or tears. Not even a solemn goodbye. Christian exited the hospital, and simply never went back. There was a life before the knife went through his skull and a life after; very, very few things crossed from one side to the other. That included many people, among them Melissa.

  The relationship with Hanson was much different than the one he had shared with Melissa; Christian still wasn’t sure if that was a positive or negative thing. Melissa cared. Hanson didn’t. It’s not that the lack of caring meant active dislike, only that what Christian decided to do didn’t matter to Hanson. Either way, the man’s day would continue on, as would his life.

  “You’re probably going to want to see a doctor,” Hanson said of Christian’s face.

  “You’re a doctor.”

  “Not the type that can help your head.”

  “This one was my fault,” Christian said.

  The psychologist looked at him for a second, the two chairs facing each other in Hanson’s office. Waverly had insisted Christian keep seeing him, but their distance meant the two had to communicate over the Internet. Now, thanks to Luke, they were able to meet in person.

  “What do you mean?” the doctor said. “It was your fault you got beat up?”

  Christian had spent the first four hours of his morning de-briefing with Waverly and others as to what happened the previous night. Tommy had told the truth, Christian believed.

  Himself, though?

  No.

  Not at all.

  “I’m not sure I can say,” Christian answered.

  “Or you’re not sure you want to?”

  Christian looked away, his neck hurting as he moved. He missed Melissa. He could have told her anything, but here? This guy was in Waverly’s back pocket, but yet he had to keep coming. Week in and week out.

  “We’re never going to make progress, Christian, if you don’t push Director Waverly from your mind. We’ll keep playing these cat and mouse games, and if I can be frank, I’m tired of them. I have a lot of work to do, and if you didn’t notice, it’s dark outside. I have a wife and a son who is getting ready to go to college, and I like eating dinner with him while I still can.”

  Christian said nothing.

  The doctor sighed.

  “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

  Silence ensued. Christian stared at the window and the darkness outside.

  “Chris—”

  “It’s my fault because I knew he was coming. I knew he’d be there, and I waited for him, and then I tried to attack him. He, of course, being Luke-Fucking-Titan got the upper hand and beat the shit out of me. That’s why it’s my fault. Because I knew he was coming and I didn’t tell anyone.”

  A longer silence passed. Tears sat in Christian’s eyes, though he wasn’t sure why. Anger. Rage. Frustration. All of it centered around someone he’d once loved. Confusion. Hopelessness. Any number of feelings, all mixed together in a cesspool of depression.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “Because I wanted to kill him.”

  “Christian, I’m truly not trying to be harsh here, but do you realize what you may have done?”

  Christian nodded, a tear falling from his eye. Anger at himself, too. Perhaps even hate.

  “I know you don’t trust me, and perhaps you have reason not to. I must balance my duty to my patients with my duty to those that we serve, the public. It’s not always an easy balance, and a problem other psychiatrists don’t have to consider.” He paused and sighed. “I won’t break confidentiality on this, Christian, because it might be the most honest thing you’ve said to me in two years.”

  Christian was quiet, still not looking at Hanson.

  “Others could have captured him, if you’d alerted Waverly,” the doctor said. “Do you want to stop him, Christian, or do you want to end him? There’s a difference, and an important one.”

  “I don’t know anymore.” He finally flicked his eyes to the doctor, the room blurry. “I know what I did. I know how many lives I may have put at risk. We could have fucking had him, right then, and right there, but I wanted to kill him … Except that’s not even true. I could have killed him. I had a gun and I was able to move maybe a second before he knew I was there. I could have pulled the trigger but I tried to hit him with the gun instead.” Christian chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Why?” Hanson asked.

  “I wanted to hurt him first.”

  The two men were silent for a few minutes, the longest Christian had sat in a shrink’s office without speaking.

  “Do you think you should be on this case, Christian? Sincerely, do you think you’re mentally fit for it?”

  Tears still in his eyes, he said, “No.”

  CHRISTIAN HELD the cup up to Tommy, placing the straw gently inside his mouth. Lunch had definitely changed for Christian; before, he’d spent his time devouring sandwiches, barely looking up to see those around him. It was humorous, when he thought about it.

  He had grown colder in every area of his life, and yet at lunch, he was forced to pay close attention to Tommy. He had to serve someone else, when the rest of his time was spent serving his obsession.

  He supposed he could have asked the nurse, Anne, to do it … but then he’d serve no one, ever.

  Christian pulled the cup back, giving him some time to swallow.

  “Thanks,” Tommy said. “Go ahead. Eat. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” Christian asked.

  “Positive.”

  Christian placed the cup down and moved to the opposite side of the desk, sitting down and unwrapping one of his sandwiches.

  He was waiting on the call from Waverly. The one in which he would say Hanson recommended Christian be removed from Luke’s case. He was, in short, waiting to be fired.

  He’d said nothing to Tommy yet, and wouldn’t either. Not until there wasn’t any other choice.

  “How’s your face feeling?” Tommy said.

  “Hurts,” Christian responded through a mouthful of food.

  Tommy let him eat for another minute before saying, “Do you ever wonder if we can win this? If we can beat him?”

  Christian looked up from his sandwich, surprised. Tommy never asked questions like that, and Christian used to wonder if he ever thought them. Tommy’s bone marrow was made up of both pragmatism and optimism. Questions involving ‘what ifs’ weren’t in his nature—neither was doubting himself.

  “Why are you asking that?”

  “Does it sound that odd coming from me?”

  Christian nodded.

  “It feels odd. I guess because I’m wondering it myself. Maybe it’s because I’m sitting in a wheelchair and having you feed me. Waverly gave me a nurse to wipe my ass, so you wouldn’t have to do it. Maybe all of that has something to do with it. Or, maybe, it’s because I’m seeing the truth. He’s always been too powerful. I mean, eventually everyone gets caught, I understand that. I just wonder if when he finally is caught, if it’ll even matter then.”

  Christian looked down at his sandwich, not hungry at all.

  He had told no one about the deal Luke made with him. All he had to do was kill his partner, boss, and former lover—then, Luke would allow himself to be captured. Christian had made up an entire story regarding their conversation, leaving out the actual words spoken.

  And now Tommy was asking him if Luke could be caught.

  The other didn’t show up, standing behind Tommy, but Christian knew wh
at he would have said: Tell him if he wants to take Luke down, all he has to do is die.

  “We’ll get him,” Christian said. “He’s going to slip up and we’ll get him when he does.”

  “But do you really believe that?”

  Christian did, or something very close to it. Only Hanson knew that Christian attacked Luke first. Even Luke hadn’t suspected it, which meant that Christian was anticipating things that hid themselves from Luke. It meant he was gaining an advantage, mentally if not physically.

  He couldn’t tell Tommy any of that, though.

  Instead, he nodded and said, “I do believe it. He’s not God.”

  No one spoke for a few seconds and Christian resumed eating, only from necessity. He wouldn’t have another chance to eat all day.

  “I hope you’re right,” Tommy said. “I really do.”

  “SHE’S CALLED three times today, Christian. The last one was five minutes ago. I’m getting tired of putting her off,” Simone said. She hadn’t yet flown to D.C.—she was working from home most days, as the entire Atlanta office was shut down. Waverly told them this afternoon that she’d be coming up on Thursday. Hanson, apparently, hadn’t told him of Christian’s unfit state yet, but Waverly clearly knew Simone would be beneficial for both Christian and Tommy.

  Christian should have told him that she was doing a fine job bitching at him from Georgia, so there wasn’t any need to waste the taxpayers’ money flying her up here.

  He didn’t, though. He missed her. Some.

  “I need to talk to Waverly first,” Christian said, referencing who kept calling him.

  “No. You could have talked to him today. You’ve been up there for two days now, and we were all in a meeting an hour ago. You knew she’d called twice by then, and you didn’t say a word.”

  Simone was talking about Veronica. Christian honestly didn’t understand how people with less brain power than he were handling all this—it was a whirlwind for him. Before lunch with Tommy, he’d had another meeting with Waverly (half expecting to receive his walking papers the entire time). They looked over nearly 20 preliminary reports regarding the four buildings attacked, and spent three hours combing through dossiers created on the identified attackers.