I frowned, looking from one of them to the other.
Listening to them talk, I realized there was still a lot I didn’t know about how Black maneuvered in the world, legally or otherwise.
I didn’t know how he explained his age.
I didn’t know if he’d already transitioned from one identity to another over the years, or if he found some other way around the fact that he looked like he was thirty, yet had fought in both the Korean and Vietnam wars. I knew he dealt with all of his medical issues internally, meaning inside his company, but I still didn’t know exactly how that worked when he got hurt away from home. The one time I’d been around when he got taken to a “normal” hospital, my uncle intervened with his people to make sure Black’s race wasn’t outed.
I had a lot of questions, I was realizing.
Lawless appeared to be watching me think, his expression grim.
“It really depends on who’s gunning for him now,” the older man added. “If it’s one of the Colonel’s people, internally, we might have a real problem. There had to be people who were in on the Black thing––”
Lex was already shaking his head, though.
“No,” he said. “I was on that team with my dad. The circle was damned tight. I can’t imagine any of that group turning on Black… much less turning on my dad. Much less killing my dad. Not unless someone made them do it.”
“Which brings us back to Charles,” I muttered.
Lex glanced at me, his mouth grim.
“Yes,” he said. “It does.”
He looked around at the others, still frowning.
“That’s what we’re talking about, right? Someone killing my dad, possibly to bring Black in… or possibly for some other reason? Either they want Black for what he is, or they’re trying to take him out so he can’t threaten their agenda. Either way, I don’t see it coming from that group. Most of us have been with him since the eighties… if not longer. Jules, Christopher, Yuzo, me, Minh, Verne. That’s pretty much it, in terms of people who’d seen any of those records. The membership of that group hasn’t changed in decades.”
“Can you contact them?” I said. “Find out if they know anything?”
He exhaled, folding his hands as he shook his head.
“They were at the funeral today,” he said. “And the reception. I already did talk to them. They were devastated.” He shook his head again. “I don’t see how anyone could fake that, not where I wouldn’t have noticed something.”
“They weren’t,” Dalejem said.
Lex frowned, turning to look at him.
So did Cowboy, Angel and Lawless.
“I read them.” Dalejem motioned towards his own head. “I apologize if it seems invasive, but I recognize their faces from your memories. I read them. If I’m not mistaken, so did your husband,” he added, nodding towards me. “They weren’t involved. Not as far as I could tell. Not unless a seer used them, and erased their memories.”
I frowned at him briefly, then looked back at Lex, who was staring at Dalejem.
“Call them,” I urged. “Use one of the sat-phones. The more we know about what’s going on inside the Pentagon, the better. Find out if they’ve heard anything about this move on Black tonight. And tell them to be careful. If they’re not involved, they might be in danger, too.”
Meeting my gaze, Lex nodded, once.
He started to get up, but Dalejem reached into his jacket, pulling out a phone. He handed it over to Lawless and nodded for him to give it to Lex.
“Use this. It should work.”
Nodding a thanks, Lex took the phone and rose to his feet. He walked towards the back of the passenger cabin, towards where I knew Black had a small bedroom.
When I glanced over my shoulder, Lex was already holding the phone to his ear.
Whoever he’d called, he must know their phone number by heart.
“So if it wasn’t any of them,” Cowboy said, leaning over on his thighs and clasping his hands. “Who could it be?”
Dalejem looked at me. He didn’t say anything, inside my head or aloud, but I knew what he was thinking that time, too.
I shook my head, holding his gaze.
“Charles wouldn’t risk outing Black to a human government,” I said, pursing my lips.
Gripping the armrests of the leather chair, I shook my head a second time.
“If anything, he’d eliminate Black to keep him from exposing the race. Honestly, that’s the main motive I can think of for him wanting Black gone… if he decided Black was too visible and would inevitably expose our race.”
Glancing over my shoulder at Lex, I frowned.
“…Which means the Colonel’s team is definitely in danger.”
“Perhaps something happened?” Dalejem suggested. “Something inside the Pentagon? Something that convinced your uncle that exposure was more likely now?”
“Like what?” I said.
Dalejem made a prayer-like gesture, leaning back in his chair.
“You tell me,” he said. “Could it be this incident in New York?” He paused. “Or could it be what happened in New Mexico?”
I stared at the floor of the plane.
Something else had occurred to me.
“What?” Dalejem said, frowning. “What is it, Miriam?”
I opened my mouth to answer, when Lex returned to our grouping of seats. Frowning down at the phone he held in his hand, he sank down to the leather seat he’d vacated only a few moments before.
“They’re gone,” he said, his voice lost-sounding.
“Gone?” Lawless turned, staring at him.
So did the rest of us.
“What do you mean, gone?” Angel said.
Lex looked up from the phone, his eyes hard.
“They took them,” he said, blunt. “All of them. Tonight. I talked to Yuzo’s wife. And Minh’s husband. Home-Sec picked them up at their homes after they left the reception. Yuzo’s wife said they didn’t even make it to the front door of their house.”
Swallowing, he added, “She said Jules didn’t make it into custody at all. She was killed on the scene. She tried to run, and they shot her when she ignored commands to stop. That’s the story Jules’ wife got, anyway––she couldn’t make the reception herself, so she wasn’t there when the pick-up happened.”
Cowboy muttered, “Which could be why Jules was the only one killed on the spot.”
When the rest of us looked over at him, he shrugged, his gray eyes flat.
“No witnesses,” he said.
Lex stared at him, as if not quite comprehending his words.
Still frowning, he looked around at the rest of us.
Then he stared back down at the phone in his hand.
“They’re gone,” he said, his voice even more lost-sounding than before. “They’re all just… gone. I’m the only one left.”
7
MAKING THE WORLD RIGHT AGAIN
“WHAT THE HELL is that thing?” the agent muttered to his partner, gripping the assault rifle in his hands as he looked over at the chained prisoner he was referencing. “Did you see its teeth when they put the mask on it?”
Dorian followed the gazes of the four guards as they all looked at the prisoner.
He turned his eyes slowly, shifting them nearer to himself, to the same bench where he sat. Unlike the rest of the security team, he shared the same bench as the prisoner. The other guards all sat across from him on the opposite bench, wearing a different uniform and helmet than what Dorian himself wore.
Unlike the other four men, he didn’t wear a combat Marine uniform.
Unlike them, he wore a laminated ID badge.
He wore black combat armor over the private-sec uniform for Silver Industries instead. He wore black fingerless gloves, combat boots, a high-tech headset, and a wristband with a number of capabilities he hadn’t yet had time to fully explore.
In essence, he dressed more or less identically to the Silver Industries private-sec agents he’d en
countered when he infiltrated their corporate headquarters outside of Langley. While there, of course, he’d obtained the uniform, the armored vest, the high-tech wristband and headset, the boots on his feet… even the fingerless gloves.
Those details, along with the automatic rifle he cradled in his lap––also obtained from a weapons locker from inside the security area of Silver Industries––were together enough to convince the military guards that he belonged in the transport truck with them. Experience had taught Dorian the less he spoke, the more people assumed he belonged, and the more they assumed he held a position of authority.
Still, he’d expected more curiosity.
There was no way they could have recognized him, but he expected some animal-to-animal interest, even if they didn’t question his right to be there specifically.
Perhaps they’d grown accustomed to seeing private-sec agents accompanying them on operations of this type. Perhaps enough of those new faces came and went, they no longer let themselves grow too curious, or bothered trying to get to know the individuals behind the uniforms. Perhaps, being regular military, they had nothing but scorn for those who worked for a private company.
Perhaps they were jealous, assuming he made more money.
Perhaps they just didn’t like the look of him. Dorian knew his appearance had that effect on some––males, especially.
Whatever the precise reason for their lack of curiosity, it fascinated Dorian.
They weren’t looking at him even now, however.
They’d barely done more than glance at him since he climbed into the back of the armored truck in the basement parking lot of the military compound in D.C.
Instead, they stared at the male sitting on the bench a few yards from where Dorian sat.
Unlike the private-sec guards, that male had an interest in Dorian.
Dorian felt the prisoner’s eyes on him, here and there, but only in small glances, never in a full-fledged stare. The other male knew enough not to make his interest too obvious, but Dorian felt it, like a low-level electrical charge that blew lightly over his skin.
Dorian didn’t let himself return any of those glances.
He kept his focus on the Marines, listening to them speak to one another.
He watched them mutter to one another even now, grimacing at the metallic green mask covering the jaw and most of the face of the imprisoned male who shared Dorian’s vinyl-padded bench. Dorian watched the human guards look at where the male’s wrists were cuffed together, chained to the bottom of the truck’s floor, along with his ankles.
They looked at him like he was a curiosity.
They looked at him like he was an animal.
They did not seem to fear him, but Dorian supposed the chains gave them a level of security on that point, along with the mask itself.
As if he heard Dorian’s thoughts, a second guard spoke, his voice a touch louder.
“No way it’s human,” he muttered. “Look at its eyes.”
“Not human? What the hell else could it be?” another snorted. “It’s gotta be human. It’s just some kind of mutant or something.”
“Maybe.” The fourth Marine, a large-shouldered man with brown hair and green eyes, continued to frown, a bare hint of disgust in its eyes. “Could be it’s a genetic experiment gone wrong. Something they made in that lab.” He gave Dorian a harder look, then glanced away. “Who knows what kind of crazy shit these bio-weapons guys get up to?”
The man next to him, an equally large specimen with darker skin and an earnest face and eyes, shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’s something that happened on accident. Maybe they brought it in to study… see if they could replicate it, or enhance it maybe. Maybe it’s some kind of birth defect.”
“I heard someone say it spoke Russian,” another volunteered, a man with rust-colored freckles on his face and bright blue eyes. “It could be from somewhere over there.”
The first one, the one who said it wasn’t human, continued to frown at the prisoner. “I don’t know. It still doesn’t look right to me. Maybe its parents got contaminated from radiation or something.”
The freckled guard burst out in a laugh. “Radiation? Like a superhero?”
“Or a super-villain. A Russian super-villain,” another joked.
“It could be a disease,” offered the one with darker skin, his voice as earnest as his face. “Some kind of biological weapon they tested, do you think? It’s Silver Industries, after all. You know what kind of rep that guy has. Logan.”
His eyes widened just before he gave Dorian a slightly nervous look, as if remembering he was there. Lowering his voice, he added,
“I’ve heard Silver’s people work on a lot of experimental tech and weaponry these days, even dark stuff. Black-funding type stuff. Things that officially don’t exist on the books. Some of it, Congress probably doesn’t even know about. This poor bastard really could have been a lab rat. Or he could’ve gotten a dose on accident.”
“Or maybe he volunteered?” The quieter, more hostile one of the bunch stared at the masked prisoner, that curl of revulsion still on his lips. “More likely, he’s a prison subject. I hear they still use those in some places, if they sign waivers. They get a free ride, or a sentence reduction if they volunteer to take part in one of the studies. They said that’s what was happening at that lab down in Louisiana, the one that got shut down––”
“I thought that was illegal––”
“Only if you get caught,” the Latino-looking male joked.
“No, really,” the blond one said. “That’s illegal, right? I thought––”
Dorian tuned them out, still watching as they talked amongst themselves.
He didn’t bother to listen to most of the words.
Frankly, they hadn’t said anything so far he found particularly illuminating.
He knew what the prisoner was.
Moreover, he knew exactly how he got here.
In any case, these humans, like most humans, didn’t strike him as particularly bright. Moreover, they seemed to think no one could hear them as they spoke to one another in low tones.
They certainly didn’t seem to think the object of their discussion could hear them.
Or, if they did, they didn’t seem to consider what effect their discussion of his possible mutations or torture might have on him. The whole time they spoke, they stared at the male chained to the metal floor, alternately describing him as a creature, a monster, a mutant, a “poor bastard,” a sick animal, a stupid fuck for volunteering, a lab rat.
Then again, it was doubtful they would have cared, even if they had thought about it.
They seemed to have forgotten Dorian once more, too.
Likely, they hadn’t once thought about the fact that he’d come on board the vehicle without a partner of his own, despite the fact that standard operating procedure for Silver Industries required agents to travel in pairs. He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself, or explain why he was coming along for a simple transport in the first place.
He wore a Silver Industries ID badge, and Silver Industries clothes.
He carried a Silver Industries gun.
Apparently, that was enough.
Even as he thought it, one of the Marines called out to him.
It was the big-necked man with the brown hair, the angry one.
“Hey,” he said, motioning towards the prisoner. “You know the story with this guy? What did they tell you upstairs?”
Dorian smiled.
Resting his arms on his thighs, he let the motion of the armored vehicle pull his body back and forth, without letting his gaze waver from the man’s face.
“Are you deaf?” the angry one said, clearly annoyed. “Do you know anything about this guy or not? You’re obviously here for a reason.”
His blond friend punched him lightly in the arm.
“He can’t tell us anything, bro.” The blond smiled at his friend in an affable way, then turne
d to Dorian, aiming that smile at him. “That’s right, isn’t it? My cousin used to work for you guys. He said they keep intel locked up tighter ‘n a weasel’s asshole over there. That’s true, right? Like everything’s proprietary… or top secret? You all sign NDAs?”
Dorian didn’t answer that, either.
The Latino was frowning at him now, too.
“No need to be a dick about it, friend,” he said, almost as a warning.
Dorian glanced at the male in the cuffs.
“Are you ready to go, sir?” He checked his watch, casually, not bothering to look at the Marines for their reaction. “We’re in the pickup zone.”
The masked and cuffed prisoner turned his head slowly.
Dorian couldn’t see his mouth, but knew his friend was smiling.
He nodded, once.
It was the only permission Dorian needed.
He shot the angry Marine first, since he already had his rifle more or less lined up on him, hitting him in the knee. When the large human let out a yell, falling forward in agony, Dorian tilted the barrel up, shooting the Latino in the arm, then the hand and the knee before sliding smoothly to his feet.
Wielding the rifle like a bat that time, he wound up and cracked the fourth guard, the one with the large brown eyes, right across the face.
It didn’t occur to him until after he’d done it that he might have hit that one too hard.
He didn’t give it more than a fraction of a second of thought, however.
Flipping the gun easily in his hands, he bludgeoned the blond one next, hitting him first in the face, then in the gut.
The blond’s rifle fell to the floor of the armored truck as he let out a gasping scream.
Dorian climbed easily over the space between the benches, knowing he was moving faster than the humans could track with their eyes. He removed their rifles and sidearms first, ripping them out of their hands and tossing them one by one towards the double doors at the back of the armored truck.
In Black We Trust Page 11
