I could no more resist the nanomites’ pull than I could fight the wind.
“Nano! No! Stop it!”
Gemma Keyes, we cannot stop. We must follow instructions.
The next scant handful of seconds slowed, every frame advancing with frozen, glacial speed.
The nanomites latched on to Zander; they sucked him up in their ‘tractor beam’ and pulled him along with me. He fought their crackling, inexorable power until he was straining toward Genie and Cushing, his feet off the floor, his weight suspended, his arms reaching toward Genie. The distance between us and Genie grew, and Zander thrust one hand toward her, managing to jab it through the nanomites’ bubble of electrical current.
I heard his muffled shout, “Genie! Call on Jesus! Call on him now!”
Cushing, raging and freaking out, struggled toward us. “Stop!” she screeched, “Stop or I’ll pull the wires! I swear I will!”
She shifted her weight toward us, trying to drag Genie with her. But as Cushing took a step in our direction, Genie leaned the other way, leveraging her weight against Cushing’s, while gripping Cushing’s blouse to prevent the wires from pulling apart.
The cutter dug into her flesh, and blood streamed down her neck; still she held onto Cushing, held her back. Jake howled and clawed and bit; undeterred, Cushing kicked at him while she fought to wrench Genie our way.
We were almost clear of the house, but Genie’s grip on Cushing’s shirt was failing—and Zander still reached toward my sister.
The inevitable was near, so near.
I screamed, “Zander! No! Please!”
He ignored me.
“Genie!” Zander shouted. “Genie! Call on Jesus!”
My heart stuttered. It was too late.
Cushing glanced toward us: She had to realize that if she waited any longer, Zander and I would escape the blast zone. With a sneer of victory, Cushing stopped pulling Genie toward us and, instead, with her last efforts, shoved Genie away.
Genie, her eyes locked on Zander, shrieked, “JESUS, I CHOOSE YOU! I CHOOSE YOU! I CHOOSE JE—”
The final thing I saw was the space between Cushing and my sister.
Widening.
“No!”
The deafening WWWWWWHOMP overcame all my senses.
The concussion flung Zander and me onto the front yard and scattered the nanocloud.
I could see and hear nothing. The earth spun. I could not stand.
I knew before I could form a coherent thought that Genie was dead.
Genie.
Cushing.
Jake.
Many of the nanomites.
My ears began to clear and, from far away, I heard a high, desperate keening.
It was me.
~~**~~
Chapter 28
I huddled under a blanket on Abe’s sofa. I smelled of smoke and explosives and death, and I couldn’t stop shaking. Emilio, in full-on protective mode, would not leave my side. He had one arm wrapped around my back; his other hand held one of mine in my lap.
Across the room, Zander cradled a bandaged hand, the one that had been outside the nanomites’ bubble. He had been reaching for Genie when Cushing detonated her belt of death. Although many nanomites had surrounded Zander’s hand, trying to push it into the shield, it had taken the brunt of the explosion.
The concussion that had blown us free of the blast zone had also blown apart our protective bubble, flinging the nanomites away like chaff before the wind. It had taken them long minutes to regroup and return.
Some had not returned. I didn’t yet know the death toll.
And I’d been too out of it when I came to my senses to realize that Zander was hurt. The returning nanomites had heard him moaning and seen the ruin of his hand. The truth was, he would have lost his hand had the nanomites not rallied and gone to work to repair it.
By the time Gamble and his tactical team rolled into the cul-de-sac—followed by firetrucks and ambulances—the mites had stopped the bleeding and brought together the many pieces of Zander’s hand. Even as the ambulance crew worked on him, the nanomites continued their repairs.
Pushing back on the shock that threatened to overcome me, I’d stayed with Zander until the nanomites whispered to me.
Gemma Keyes, we were unable to find or manufacture every tiny piece of Zander’s hand. He is missing some bone and tissue—a small percentage—but he will regain the use of his hand. As the human expression goes, ‘it may work, but it won’t be pretty.’ While his hand heals, we can, perhaps, do more.
Zander had refused to go to the hospital. At first the paramedics told him he might die from shock and loss of blood if he weren’t treated immediately. Twenty minutes later, they said he might lose his hand if he weren’t transported to the hospital. After yet another twenty minutes, when he insisted that they unwrap their bandages and look at his injury again, they said nothing. They rebandaged it while exchanging disbelieving glances and mouthing, “I know what I saw!”
Zander pressed his lips together and bent his head. He was praying for me.
Thank you, Zander, I thought. The words never made it to my mouth.
“You sure she’s gone?” Emilio whispered to me. “Really gone? Gone for good?”
I couldn’t respond; I didn’t know if he meant Cushing or Genie. It didn’t matter—either answer was equally gruesome.
Abe shook his head and gently shushed him. “Later, I think, Emilio.”
Emilio nodded and gripped my hand harder, as though the pressure could wring from me the sights, sounds, and smells of the devastation across the cul-de-sac.
Nothing could. I blinked and blinked and blinked. Kept trying to blink the images out of my head, but they would not go: Genie hanging on to Cushing despite the sharp point of the blade at her throat; Cushing thrusting Genie away—and the space between them growing.
Then the flash, the blast, the heat, the destruction.
Cushing. Blown to tiny bits and pieces.
Gemma Keyes, we were unable to find or manufacture every tiny piece of Zander’s hand.
Genie. Blown apart like Zander’s hand.
Genie—and Jake with her.
Genie.
Jake.
My house was, more or less, leveled—the second house I’d lost in less than forty-eight hours and in the same way! Not that either of them mattered in the scope of eternity.
Genie was dead.
Jake was dead.
Jake. Jake had come to Genie’s defense. Why? Why had he done that? Jake. I couldn’t fathom what he’d done, let alone why? The “why” utterly eluded me.
And what purpose had the frantic exchange between Zander and Genie served? Why had Zander tried so hard to reach Genie? I didn’t understand that either.
“I choose Jesus.” Had Genie really said that or was I misremembering?
Genie.
Where was she right now? At this moment, did she stand before God?
Had Genie chosen Jesus?
In the last seconds before death, had Jesus saved Genie?
I trembled harder and could not stop. When I began to sob, Emilio broke down and cried with me. I knew he was scared, afraid of what my raw emotions meant. I didn’t want him to be scared, so I tried to hold the combined shock, horror, and relief within me, but horror and relief at the same time don’t belong together.
The mixture was just too volatile, too reactive.
Like a shaken soda bottle, as soon as the cap was unscrewed even a little, I could not tamp down the rising churn. It had to come out. So, I stopped fighting it and let it boil over.
We will help you, Gemma Keyes.
The nanomites. They’d saved my life.
Again.
But they’d chosen me over Genie. Why?
We must follow instructions.
I didn’t know what that meant, and I was too distressed to care.
The pressure behind my eyes and in my muscles eased a little. I sniffled and drew a sleeve across my drippy nose
.
“Here, Gemma.” Zander tucked a tissue into my hand and pressed my hand as he did.
I looked up at him. His beautiful gray eyes were filled with compassion and understanding. He cupped my chin in his hand and stroked my cheek with his thumb. I leaned into his comforting touch, wishing above all things that I had the right to call him mine.
“Zander?”
He squatted near me. “What, Gemma?”
“Genie. Before. Before she . . . she said, ‘I choose Jesus.’ What did that mean?”
One corner of his mouth turned up, though his eyes did not smile with his mouth. “I had an opportunity to share Jesus with Genie. I can only hope her last words mean that the Holy Spirit took my words and used them to win her to him.”
“Took my words and used them to win her to him.” Could it be true?
An authoritative knock landed on Abe’s front door. All of us looked to Abe, so he shuffled to the door and spoke without opening it.
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Pickering, it’s Agent Janice Trujillo.”
Having heard Gamble identify himself—and his agency—many times, it struck me that Agent Trujillo had not added her agency. We still didn’t know from which agency or sub-agency Cushing had drawn her small army. DIA? CIA? More likely NSA, given Harmon’s pedigree.
With the head of the snake severed, it didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter unless another snake was surfacing to take Vice President Harmon’s place and Trujillo had a new master to report to.
“What do you want, Agent Trujillo?” Abe demanded.
“I was hoping for a word with Miss Keyes.”
And there it was.
I shook harder. I just couldn’t stop. Zander sat on my other side and joined Emilio’s efforts to comfort me.
“She’s not here,” Abe said through the door.
“Mr. Pickering, I mean Miss Keyes no harm, but what I have to say to her is important. And, just for the record, I know she’s in there.”
As an afterthought, she added, “It’s important to her future.”
Abe heard an implied threat. “Unless you’ve got a warrant, Agent Trujillo, you best get off my property. I am armed. If you attempt to enter, I will shoot to kill.”
“No, no, no!” I could not lose Abe. I couldn’t!
“Shhhh, Gemma,” Zander soothed. “Let Abe handle it.”
“No! I don’t want him hurt!”
Trujillo called through the door. “Mr. Pickering, I am not looking to take Miss Keyes into custody or cause any problems for you. However, we have, um, a unique opportunity here and I feel that she may wish to take advantage of it.”
When Abe didn’t answer, she added, “Please. I only need a few minutes. And I would like to . . . I would like to apologize.”
Some semblance of my self-control returned. I wiped at my nose and eyes and swallowed.
“Abe.”
He shook his head.
“Abe. Please let her in. You know she can’t hurt me.”
Agent Trujillo called, “Mr. Pickering?”
Abe glanced at the door, then at Zander, who shrugged.
“Let her in, Abe.”
Janice Trujillo came in with a sheepish smile. “I apologize for the intrusion.”
“Just say your piece and move along,” Abe said, not a hint of hospitality in his tone.
“Yes, I will, however . . .” She’d noticed Emilio and cut her eyes to Abe.
He nodded. “Young man, we need to do some adult talking. Please go to your room until I call you.”
Emilio’s brows pulled down into a familiar glower—but Abe’s fuse was already short.
“Not up for discussion, young sir.”
“Aw, nuts.” Emilio got up and stomped toward the bedroom.
Abe was quick to call him back. “Emilio.”
Emilio sighed, retraced his steps. “Yes, sir. I’ll go to my room, sir.”
Abe hugged him, and Emilio hugged him back. He went off to his room and closed the door.
“Right then. Say your piece.”
“Thank you. Miss Keyes? A moment ago, I spoke to a mutual friend, a Mr. Kennedy. You met him, ah, last week.”
It took a second for the reference to hit me. To astound me. “You talked to him?”
“Yes.”
Zander and Abe were unaware of my foray to the White House. It needed to stay that way, so I just gaped and nodded for her to continue.
“I conveyed today’s events to Mr. Kennedy and to our other . . . mutual acquaintance.”
Zander and Abe looked between me and Trujillo. Abe snorted. “We’ve been cut out of this conversation, Pastor Cruz.”
“Yeah, I concur.”
“It’s necessary,” I said.
Trujillo agreed. “Yes, it is, but they can hear the message—if that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Very good. Well, first, our friends both wished me to offer their condolences to you at your sister’s death. If there’s anything they can do . . .”
“No, but tell them thank you.”
“I will. However, a few minutes after I’d told them that Cushing and your sister had both perished in the explosion, Mr. Kennedy had an idea. His idea is what I’ve come to speak to you about.”
“Oh?”
“They acknowledge that Gemma Keyes, through no fault of her own, has had a rough time of it. Her name has been vilified in the news, and she’s still the subject of a nationwide manhunt. Her life is in ruins.”
I thought, A rough time of it? Do you know what I’ve been through, how many times I nearly died?
I squirmed and bit my tongue. “Shouldn’t all that go away after the facts come out?”
Trujillo said nothing. Just looked at me.
The silence dragged on.
“You’re saying . . . that the facts aren’t going to come out.”
She pursed her lips. “One could make the case that if a single thread is pulled, that thread would, inevitably, lead to another. And another.
Harmon. A large-scale scandal that could bring down the President’s administration.
“I-I guess I take your point.”
Trujillo spoke softly. “I don’t know everything about you, Miss Keyes. I don’t know why Cushing wanted you, what it was you had that she so desperately needed. Cushing kept me out of that—although I’ve seen things and heard things . . . that don’t make a lot of sense. That boggle the mind.”
She stared at me.
I arched one brow. Did not respond.
She laughed under her breath. “All right. Got it. Well, our mutual friends did suggest that your secrets need to remain secrets. For your sake.”
Then I understood. “And if a single thread is pulled it might lead to my . . . secrets.”
“That is their concern.”
“I appreciate their concern . . . and discretion.”
“Yes, so that takes us to Mr. Kennedy’s idea.”
Abe, deciding that Trujillo posed no threat to me, recovered his manners in a rush. “Please have a seat, Agent Trujillo?”
“Thanks. Is here all right with you, Miss Keyes?” She pointed to the sofa where Emilio had been sitting next to me.
I nodded.
She sat. Struggled with how to start. “The basis of the idea is that, as twins, you and your sister share the same DNA.”
“I suppose so.”
“ATF will take point on the cause of explosion itself, but our, um, mutual friend has requested that the FBI take overall charge of the investigation and that Special Agent Ross Gamble be the lead investigator.”
Trujillo jutted her chin toward the front door. “He and his forensic team are over there right now. What Kennedy proposed is that we . . . fudge the data from the recovery a little. This is possible since Special Agent Gamble is overseeing the recovery.”
“The recovery?”
“Of the bodies.”
I thought I was gonna throw up in her lap.
<
br /> She must have thought so, too, because she jumped up. “Mr. Pickering, might Gemma have some water?”
“I’ll get it.” Zander raced to the kitchen and brought back a tall glass of water and a wet cloth.
The cold cloth on my face helped. The water helped.
So did not thinking about body recovery.
Trujillo figured that out. “I’ll, uh, make this quick, Miss Keyes. We’d like to announce that we found three sets of remains in the debris. Our intention is to assert to the world that General Cushing, Genie Keyes, and her twin, Gemma Keyes, perished in the explosion. You need not concern yourself with how we’ll do it, but the DNA findings will not contradict our report.”
My head jerked up. “What?”
“We’ll put you in WITSEC, Miss Keyes. Give you a brand-new identity. A fresh start. A little money to get established. A job. A future.”
“I . . .”
I glanced at Zander.
“No more running, Gemma. You’d have a real life again.” Were those tears in his eyes?
“I-I can’t do that! I’ve got Emilio. And Abe. And . . .” I stared at Zander, longing for him.
“Think about it?” Trujillo handed me a card. “We have about a seventy-two-hour window before we release an official statement. Three days.”
I took the card. “You said Gamble is in charge of the investigation.”
“Yes. He will be the one releasing the statement.”
I handed the card back to her. “I’ll let him know what I decide.”
Trujillo studied her shoes. “I understand, Miss Keyes. Completely.” She dithered. “Uh, and I still owe you an apology.”
Looking me full in the face, she said, “I was assigned to General Cushing for a covert national security operation. That is, by the way, classified information, and I’m breaking the law by telling you, but . . . well, you deserve to understand my actions.”
She cleared her throat. “In the covert world, we are trained to expect ambiguity in certain situations; however, it became apparent to me weeks ago that Cushing’s goals and methods were questionable—well, more than questionable. However, I had no one to report my misgivings to—until our mutual friends called me.”
She shifted on her feet. “Miss Keyes, I apologize for my role in what can only have been a very difficult year for you. I am sincerely sorry. I wish I could make amends.”
Stealth Retribution Page 30
