Written in Fire (The Brilliance Trilogy Book 3)

by Marcus Sakey

  She brushed her hair back behind her ear. “I don’t like it.”

  “I know.”

  “Let me shift through the building, make sure there are no surprises. I can do it.”

  “I know,” Cooper said. “I know how good you are. That’s why I need you to play your part. No one else can.”

  “But—”

  “Will you trust me?” He met her eyes. “Please?”

  She looked up at him, sucked the corner of her lip between her teeth, and nodded. He had a sudden urge to lean over and mash her against him, lock her in a kiss that lasted until neither could breathe.

  “What about me?” Ethan looked ridiculous in tactical gear, his shoulders and arms swimming in the uniform, a helmet strapped comically to his head.

  “Once we’ve cleared the building, you’re the man. Smith may already have modified his flu to include the serum. Securing that is second priority only to taking him down.” Cooper paused, scanned the ranks of commandos. “Any questions?”

  None of the soldiers said anything, but he could read the tension in each of them, the way they wanted to check ammunition loads or the fit of their armor, and the way they were not doing either. Skilled professionals, nerved up—only cowboys wouldn’t be—but ready to go.

  “I’ve got a question,” Ethan said.

  “What is it, Doc?”

  “Why is this such a bad thing?”

  Looks bounced around the inside of the truck. Ethan saw them, but while he might not be a warrior, he wasn’t a coward, either. “I don’t mean taking down Smith. I mean a virus that turns people brilliant.”

  Cooper said, “That’s like suggesting a rape victim should be grateful she got laid.”

  “Whoa.” Ethan held up his hands. “I agree that it should be a personal choice. I didn’t make a weapon.”

  “No,” Shannon said. “You just developed the technology for someone else to do it.”

  “I’m a scientist. Figuring things out is my job. And before your horse gets too high, think about how the rest of us feel.”

  Cooper raised an eyebrow.

  “I get that it’s not always easy to be gifted,” Ethan said. “But try being normal. I mean, seriously, boo-hoo, you’re a superhero. Waa-waa, you can do things the rest of us only dream of.” He shook his head. “The way society treats abnorms, especially recently, it’s hideous. But don’t you get how much we all want what you have?”

  “Neanderthals and Homo sapiens,” Shannon said quietly.

  “Well . . .” Ethan shrugged. “Kind of, yeah. Abnorms are objectively better than norms. Which was true of Neanderthals and Homo sapiens, too.”

  “So, what,” Cooper said, “we should just wipe out norms like Homo sapiens wiped out the Neanderthals?”

  “Actually,” Ethan replied, “it wasn’t like that. The two species had conflict, no doubt, but they also did some crossbreeding. The latest research shows they coexisted for something like five thousand years. In the end, Homo sapiens won out because we were better. We had longer nascency periods, bigger brains, better symbolic capabilities. In a world of finite space and resources, we got more, so we lived and they didn’t.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “It’s not about being okay. It’s not a moral issue. It’s an evolutionary one. Evolution is an ugly, bloody process. But it’s also the reason we’re sitting here. And you might want to remember that in this example, I’m a Neanderthal, and so are my wife and my daughter.” Ethan shrugged. “If Neanderthals had a choice to become Homo sapiens, you think they wouldn’t have taken it? Wouldn’t have wanted it?”

  “Two problems with that, Doc.” The truck turned a corner, and Cooper found himself leaning into the soldier beside him. “First, you just said ‘choice,’ which is exactly what Smith is not giving anyone.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “And second, this isn’t evolution. It’s not happening over thousands of years in a natural setting. This is your science project. It subverts the system.”

  Ethan opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a loud buzz. Fingers tightened on assault weapons. Cooper’s heart kicked up, and his palms went wet. The truck didn’t slow—they were hitting hard and fast—but the sound signaled that they were a block away.

  “Listen up,” Cooper said to the commandos. “I know you’ve gone up against terrorists before. This is different.” He looked down the line, meeting the eyes of each. “This is John Smith. Do. Not. Hesitate.”

  The tires squealed as the driver slammed on the brakes, the truck sliding and skewing. It hadn’t quite stopped when the two soldiers nearest the back kicked the doors open in an explosion of pale sunlight, and then they were moving.

  This is it. Your last chance. Win now, or lose everything.

  I’m coming for you, John.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Will it hurt?”

  They were in Hawk’s room again. He’d cleaned it up. It just sort of felt right, like something he would do before leaving on a long trip, even though he wasn’t going anywhere. He sat on the bed, John in the chair. His friend looked tired, but comfortable, too, as if he was okay to let down his guard in here, a notion that Hawk treasured.

  “This is a jet injector.” John held up a device that looked like a futuristic squirt gun. “Fires a high-pressure blast of fluid through the dermis into your bloodstream. Feels like a mosquito bite.”

  “What about . . .”

  “The flu is just the flu,” John said. “Sneezing, coughing, maybe a little nausea. But we modified it to be as minor as possible. That’s part of the point—if people feel awful, they’ll stay home, and we need them out spreading the virus. But the change, becoming brilliant, that’s a little different.”

  “How?”

  “Well, it’s altering the way your brain works. It’s going to be disorienting. Probably a little scary.”

  Hawk realized he was biting his lip, made himself stop. “What will it feel like?”

  “I don’t know exactly. You’re only the second person in history to go through it.”

  “Dr. Couzen was the first.” He took a breath. “His face was all scratched up. Did he—he did that to himself?”

  “Yes,” John said. “But remember, he’s too old, too rigid. You’re young and strong and malleable. It will be confusing. You’ll start to see things differently, to be able to do things that you weren’t able to before. My advice is to take it slow. Like going from a dirt bike to a ten-speed. You don’t want to go as fast as you can right away. Get used to it, learn how the gears interact, how the brakes work. As you get more comfortable, then you can stretch yourself.”

  “Do you know what my gift will be?”

  “That’s the best part. Those who are born gifted, our gifts are set. But because this is pure, you’re going to be able to do a lot of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe everything.” John smiled. “Once you have it under control, you’re going to be more powerful than I am.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Hawk tried to imagine that, what it would feel like. To be able to think like John, to have that thing he had, that power that made people want to help him. Or to be able to move like Haruto—Sensei Yamato, he corrected himself—who could control his body with perfect precision, who could fight blindfolded using only sound to guide him. How amazing would that be?

  “Are you ready?”

  Aaron took a deep breath, then blew it out. Nodded.

  The metal barrel of the injector was cool against his arm. Before he could tense up, his friend pulled the trigger. There was a pfff sound and a tiny pinch. “That’s it?”

  “Yup.”

  “I . . .” Emotion inflated his chest like a balloon. Hawk wanted to hug John, to cry. This was everything he’d ever wanted. To be like his mom, like John, or Tabitha. How would she look at him now? “Thank you.” His voice came out a little wobbly, and he wiped at his nose “Thank you.”
/>   “No, Hawk.” John put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  There was a muffled boom, like someone dropping heavy free weights in the gym. John’s head jerked up, and he stared at the door. Hawk said, “What was—”

  “Shh.”

  For a second, nothing happened.

  Then the shooting started.

  From the outside, the building wasn’t particularly notable. A warehouse on the outskirts of Tesla, tucked in amidst the others. The Holdfast had to import the vast majority of products, and they all had to be stored somewhere.

  The Wardens moved with easy precision, every commando knowing exactly where to move and what to cover. There was no shouting, no hardened sergeant yelling, Go go go! That was for the movies. Here, in the bright sunlight of a Wyoming winter afternoon, the only sounds were the hustle of footfalls, the hum of traffic from a nearby artery, and the rumble of the truck engine.

  Alpha Team hit the warehouse like a black wave. The point man slapped charges against the front door, stepped back, made a quick hand symbol. Cooper checked the safety on the assault rifle he carried, a Holdfast design of curved carbon fiber. His armpits were sweaty and his heart was loud, but his hands had the in-mission steadiness he’d always been able to count on. How many times had he been in a raid for the DAR? Hundreds, counting the drills.

  But never one where you knew John Smith was on the other side of the door.

  He muted the thought. The time for second-guessing was past. It was do or die.

  The charges took the door right off the hinges, hurling the heavy metal inside with a roar of sound, quickly followed by an explosion of light from a flashbang. Two-man teams flowed in, and Cooper followed.

  A lobby of some sort. Tall ceilings with exposed girders. A bench, a security camera, a guard doubled over and clutching his eyes. The teams swept past him, Cooper surfing their wave, leaving the guard for the tail of the column. On the schematics this broad entrance connected directly to the storage space, with a side hall leading to a series of offices. But in reality, walls had been built that framed the space out differently. No surprise. Schematics only showed the initial design. Smith’s team would have customized the interior to their specifications, and they wouldn’t have filed permits. Cooper was glad of it. He was counting on it.

  The team stormed the hall and took up positions at a corner, then moved around it in neat synchronicity. Cooper heard yelling, a Warden ordering someone to get on the ground, and before that was even possible, the fast hard crack of automatic weapons fire, forward commandos dropping a target. He swung around behind them, saw two bad guys bleeding, one on his knees, the other staggering, both clean shots. Behind him someone yelled, “Flash!” as another stun grenade arced over Cooper’s head.

  A man stepped from an alcove with the precision of a ballet dancer. His features were bland, his expression mild. His eyes were closed. Without breaking stride, he reached up to pluck the flashbang from the air and toss it back with a flick of his wrist. Cooper barely had time to turn away before everything vanished in a swell of roaring white.

  The flashbang hazed out his vision, but he’d recognized the man. Haruto Yamato, one of the lieutenants who had been with Smith in New York. He made himself focus as Yamato started forward, eyes still shut as he took out the first Warden with a neck chop that segued into a leg sweep on the second.

  Yamato’s gift is audiokinetic. He fights with his eyes closed and holds high-rank black belts in a dozen martial arts.

  You can’t win toe-to-toe, but this doesn’t need to be a fair fight. All you need to do is tie him up long enough for the others to—

  Wait a second.

  You’re carrying an assault rifle.

  Cooper raised his weapon and fired.

  Yamato danced and sidestepped his way around the first three bullets. But the fourth, fifth, and sixth tore open his chest, and he staggered into a wall, then slid down it with a red smear. His empty eyes opened.

  I’m coming for you, John.

  Gunshots, lots of them, and yelling, and more explosions. Hawk was starting for the door before he realized he’d moved at all.

  “Stop.” John’s voice was a whip, no warmth in it.

  Hawk froze. More gunfire, this time from the other direction. A scream. Everyone had always said that enemy soldiers could storm the building, but he’d never really believed it, not in his bones.

  Smith opened the door a crack and peered into the hall before stepping out. Aaron followed, trying to remember the drills, what to do if they were ever raided. Stay in their rooms? No, that didn’t make sense. The armory. Everyone was supposed to fall back to the armory.

  “Come on.” John set off at a jog.

  “Wait, the armory is the other way!” More shots, closer. His heart was going crazy, and he needed to pee desperately.

  “We’re not going to the armory. Move!”

  Cooper hadn’t been in that many secret laboratories. Two, to be precise. But so far they seemed like very dangerous places.

  Abe Couzen’s facility in the Bronx had been a shiny wonderland of science toys, but by the time he and Ethan had found it, it had been redecorated via hand-to-hand combat—benches overturned, blood splashed on the wall.

  This one was bigger, harshly lit, and filled with objects whose function he could only guess at. Blood spatter covered the sparkling surfaces and broken glass crunched underfoot. Commandos hustled between the tables, shouting and zip-tying captives.

  The Wardens had shock-and-awed their way through the warehouse without significant incident. Plenty of Smith’s people resisted, but taken by surprise in ones and twos, none of them had posed even half the threat Haruto Yamato had. A dozen fighters had fallen back to a cinderblock armory, which Cooper found very considerate. So much easier to gas them all at the same time.

  He paced the lab, taking in the place. The gunfire had died down to occasional bursts. Cooper stepped over a wet spray of brain matter and crouched beside a body. Two holes had been punched through the man’s face, but even so, it was obviously not Smith.

  He keyed his earpiece, said, “Status.”

  “This is Bravo Leader. We’ve cleared the building through our checkpoint.”

  “Any sign of Smith?”

  “That’s a negative.”

  “Roger,” Cooper said. “Exterior?”

  “All quiet on the street. One in custody, two KIA. Neither is Smith.”

  “Sir.” The commander of Alpha Team was a squat, hard-eyed woman who looked like she could bicep-curl Cooper’s weight. Her face was grim. “He wasn’t with the people in the armory, either.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “We’re doing a thorough sweep of the building now. But unless John Smith is hiding under the floorboards, we’ve missed him.”

  Slowly, Cooper nodded.

  Then smiled.

  The tunnel was choked with dust. In the dark, Hawk couldn’t see the spiderwebs that brushed against his face, but each one made his skin crawl. The space was too tight to crawl. He had to wriggle like a worm, his elbows jammed in his sides.

  While gunfire raged in both directions, John had led them to the closet near the lab, an ammonia-smelling room with mops and tools and a big plastic utility sink. One of the weird things about being in a resistance movement was that it wasn’t like you could hire janitors, so when it came to cleaning, there was a duty roster. Hawk had wielded a mop in John Smith’s service more times than he could count.

  As Aaron stepped into the room, John had grabbed the sink and yanked. The metal feet grumbled across the concrete, revealing a hole in the wall about two feet square. Without a word, John had stuck his head in and started wriggling his way forward. For a moment Hawk had just stared, hoping John was going after weapons, but the shadow swallowed more and more of Smith’s body until he was gone.

  Hawk had taken a deep breath and followed.

  The first few feet were just the space behind the wall, but then they hit a ring of concret
e, and beyond that, hard-packed dirt. He wasn’t normally claustrophobic, but the space was tight enough that his shoulders touched on both sides as he squirmed diagonally downward. With every forward inch, the darkness grew more complete, until there was nothing but the sound of his breath and cold dirt and the silky panic of spiderwebs brushing his face. In that womb-dark all he could think about was the weight above him. His imagination painted a picture of all that earth, the tonnage of soil and cement and building and street. What would happen if he got stuck? Would someone come to save him? In the chaos, maybe he’d be forgotten, trapped here, buried alive. Panic twisted in his belly, a blind and toothy worm, like the worms moving through the dirt around them, and who knew what kind of pale, crawling nightmare lived down here—

  Don’t you quit in front of John. Don’t you dare, you pussy.

  Slowly the tunnel leveled out. He kept moving, his breath fast and humid. He really needed to pee. After an eternity, John’s voice drifted back. “Here we are.” There was a metal-on-metal squeal, and then a ringing thud, and a burst of light ahead.

  Pulling himself out of the tunnel felt like being born again. He panted, bent over, hands on his knees until he trusted himself enough to straighten.

  They were in a long hallway lit by widely spaced bulbs. The ceiling was about eight feet high, but the top third was crammed with a dense lattice of wire that forced them both to stoop. John fit a metal panel back into the wall to conceal the hole they’d just come through, glanced both ways, then started moving. “Come on.”

  “What is this place?”

  “Maintenance shaft. Tesla was planned and executed as a whole, so the first thing the engineers dug was an infrastructure support system.” John put a hand up, traced the cables above. “All the data in the city runs through these lines.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Out. The nearest access hub is a quarter mile up. There’s a truck parked nearby.”

  “A truck?” Hawk straightened, banged his head on a metal brace, winced. “You knew they were coming?”