“Yeah, bad for business, too,” Porthos said, returning the laugh. “Tough to get new people in if he’s taking up a table all by himself all day. I’ll swing by The Diner for lunch, though, and figure out why my pal gave me his work schedule when I was inebriated and couldn’t remember it correctly.”
“Tell Mark I said hi,” the guard said, as Porthos moved away.
“Oh, I will,” Porthos replied. He hopped into a black sports car and sped away.
Cain jogged up to the window. “Hi. I don’t suppose you know if there’s a bus station nearby?”
The guard chuckled, noticing Cain’s sweats. “Ran a bit farther than you should have, huh? I do that, too.”
Cain grinned sheepishly. “Brisk air, you think it will cool you down enough to run farther, but I guess I overestimated how far I could make it.”
The guard nodded in sympathy. “It’s about a mile down the street that way,” he replied, jabbing a finger to Cain’s left. “Not too many buses run on Saturday mornings, though. Hope you aren’t waiting too long.”
“I’ll make do,” Cain replied. “Thanks for the info.”
He walked with a fake limp until he was out of direct sight of the guard, and then began to jog. Porthos had a head start on him, but Porthos was trying to be judicious in his use of Energy as well, as evidenced by his use of the car. He didn’t want to alert Will Stark to his presence, any more than the Alliance wanted Porthos alerted to theirs. If Cain could teleport to The Diner, and get there a few minutes after Porthos, the man might not notice that a jogger had made similar time to the restaurant that Porthos had made in the car. Cain was also aided by the fact that Porthos wouldn’t know the best routes to the restaurant from his current location.
Once clear of the guards, once he’d confirmed there were no human eyes on him, and once he’d looked for the tell-tale sign of the in-wall security cameras of De Gray Estates that he’d long since uncovered, Cain phased into invisibility and flew over the wall into the neighborhood. He flew straight through the hurricane of Energy Will had generated into Eva and Aaron’s house. He phased back to his solid state and immediately teleported from within their scutarium-lined walls back to his own house, conveniently within walking distance of The Diner. Seconds later, he’d walked out his front door once again.
The same neighbor watched him with interest. “I didn’t see you come back.”
“I turned my walk into a jog and came in the back entry to grab a drink. Now I’m hungry, of course, and since I got rid of my food before leaving on my trip, I’m heading to The Diner for lunch. See you later.”
“Okay,” the neighbor replied, shrugging.
Cain walked at a brisk pace to The Diner and arrived there five minutes later. He spotted Porthos’ car—easily visible amidst the aging minivans and sedans filling the rest of the spaces in the lot—and walked inside.
The warm air hit him, as did the smells of meat and grease that always dominated the small restaurant. It was their prime lunch hour, and many seats were taken. He did a quick scan of the restaurant as if looking for open seats and spotted Porthos off to the right.
“Hey, Cain!” Gena walked by, scribbling a few notes on an order ticket. “Your usual seat’s available. I’ll be right with you.”
Cain grinned. “Thanks, Gena. I’m going to hit the restroom first, though.”
His usual seat was to the left, but he veered to the right, toward the restrooms and toward the booth Porthos occupied. He’d dumped the overcoat for the cloak he normally favored, which surprised Cain. The Hunters usually made a concerted effort to avoid attention in human environs, and in this restaurant his tailored suit was noticeable. The cloak, with its oversized hood hanging down his back, made him an even greater curiosity.
Cain didn’t like that. Porthos was being either overly confident or extremely sloppy. Either could mean danger to those he encountered—and those who remembered that encounter.
Cain walked by casually flexing his fingers as if warming himself from the chill. As he passed Porthos’ booth, the flexion changed just enough for the microscopic microphone to slide from his hand and under the table. Cain continued along, washed his hands in the restroom, and walked back past Porthos to his usual table. Gena was chatting with the cook in the back as he walked by, and she caught his eye. “Usual order, Cain? I can just put it in now since I’m standing here.”
“Perfect,” Cain replied.
He sat in his usual spot, a booth by the windows that provided a panoramic view of the great Dome covering Pleasanton, and pulled out his headphones and a book while he waited for his order. He often sat here during lunch, reading and listening to music… or so it appeared. In reality, he was spying on Gena, trying to find out what was happening in her life. The headphones picked up audio signals from the microscopic microphones he dropped around the restaurant on each visit. That allowed him to listen in on conversations with and about Gena, allowing him to make sure she was safe.
Now, he’d use that same method to find out what Porthos was planning to do.
Cain focused his attention on the earphones, waiting for the conversation to start to filter in. It was unusually quiet; typically, he’d hear multiple conversations at the same time, often overhearing the same person more than once as the microphones picked up the loudest talkers. He’d then have to try to isolate on what Gena was saying and what was being said to and about her. There was little to worry about; she was well-loved and, outside a few men suggesting they’d be okay if something happened to Mark so she’d be available again, nothing that could be construed as threatening was ever uttered about her.
Now, though, he was expecting a subtle threat to her very existence to come from a man he knew could execute her on the spot without a hint of effort.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Gena said.
Porthos’ oily voice came through clearly over the microphone. “That’s right. I’m here to do some research for my television show.”
“Oh?” Gena sounded intrigued. “What show is that?”
“We’re scouting out a few artifacts for a new reality TV show that’s starting up. We identify those artifacts, lost objects from the past said to hold some special value—financial, historical, sacred, even magical—and try to figure out if they ever actually existed, and if so, what happened to them.”
“Sounds interesting,” Gena said. Cain almost choked. Even from this distance, he could detect the mild boredom in her voice.
Porthos chuckled. “Yeah, really dry stuff, I know. But, in the event we find something, there’s quite a bit of history that can be made. Plus, we get to introduce our television viewers to residents of the towns and cities where we find these artifacts, and ask them—on camera, of course—about how the items in question might have altered the history of their area.”
“Really?” Now Gena sounded interested, and Cain silently cursed. Gena had long wanted to move into a career in film or television; part of the reason she worked in a popular local restaurant was to increase the chances she’d meet someone who could “discover” her. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the type of discovery she needed. It could prove fatal.
“Right. That’s why I’m here, actually. We traced this old amulet across from France and into the States, and it seems the last record of it places it right here, in Pleasanton. Which is interesting, in a boring, yawn-inducing way.”
Gena laughed.
“Unless…” Porthos paused.
“Unless… what?”
“Unless the legend is true. If it’s true… well, it’s such a nice little city. I’d hate for… well, I won’t bother you with the details.”
“No, please, tell me.” Gena sounded concerned. Cain sighed. Porthos had centuries of practice at extracting information from humans through a type of long con. Gena wasn’t the first to fall for his verbal spells.
“The story goes that this amulet has a true owner. If it’s in that owner’s possession, it brings about peace and prosperity. If it gets
separated from that owner, though, it starts to build up a type of energy inside. Negative, explosive energy. If enough time passes before that amulet returns to the possession of its true owner, it will… blow up.” Porthos made a sound like an explosion, and from the far side of the restaurant, Cain could see his hands move apart.
He could almost see Gena’s eyes widen in terror. He chewed his bite of cheeseburger very carefully as he continued to pretend to read the book in front of him. Absentmindedly, he turned the page with a greasy finger. He liked paper books, but the old vellum scrolls were better. Especially the pictures.
“How explosive would it be?”
“It would probably be enough to decimate an area roughly the size of a modern city block. And it’s been missing from its true owner for a long time. Centuries, in fact.”
Gena gasped. “That would be awful! And you say it would happen here? Soon?”
“Very soon. The records indicate that the amulet can only store so much of this negative energy, and due to a few… errors in the past, we’ve calculated that it’s due to explode again in just under a week. The clues we collected helped us to identify the coordinates where it was last buried, deep under the ground. We’d hoped the amulet would be in an open field so that we could dig it up without any trouble—or risk of major damage or injury—but… “ He shook his head sadly. “No such luck.”
“Where… where is it?”
“It’s under the wall surrounding a big housing community here. I think it’s called… the De Gray Estates?”
Gena gasped again, her hand going to her mouth. “But… my fiancée… he works there.”
“He does?” Porthos said, and if Cain didn’t know any better, he’d swear the man hadn’t been aware of that detail. “Look, I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about…” He let his voice trail off.
“We can’t really take that chance though, right?” Gena had fallen completely under his spell, and Cain couldn’t tell from here if any subtle use of Energy had helped in that effort. “If there’s any possibility… we just have to make sure we get that amulet back to its owner. The people who live there…. well, most of them aren’t very nice, but the Starks are pleasant, very good to me and my fiancée.”
“The… Starks, you say?” Porthos’ voice was strained, higher pitched. He realizes Will’s not alone now, Cain thought. She’s just told him something critically important. I hope she doesn’t mention Josh…
Gena nodded. “Mr. and Mrs. Stark employ my fiancée as a security guard there,” she explained. “And they take very good care of him; they gave us first class airfare for our honeymoon. I… I really don’t want to take the chance that something bad might happen to them, either.”
Porthos took a long time to respond. “Right, nothing… bad. To the Starks.”
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine. I just… I hadn’t realized Will Stark lived here. With his wife. That’s… yes, we should definitely warn them. I’ll call his office and try to talk to him… see if they’ll let us in… Good for the show.” Cain heard a rustling noise, and risked a glance in their direction. Porthos was standing up, straightening out his cloak. “Thank you. For everything.” He passed a piece of green paper to Gena, and Cain could hear her gasp. Cain suspected Porthos had just given her a very generous tip.
Porthos walked out the door, throwing the hood of the cloak over his head. And Cain could hear him thinking. Will Stark is married. Will Stark is married. We can use his wife to get to him. I have to get back to the others. And after it’s done, I need to take care of that waitress. She’d be able to identify me.
Cain felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air Porthos’ departure had allowed into the restaurant.
Gena stopped by a moment later. “Everything okay here?”
Cain nodded. “I’m not that hungry,” he admitted. “Could you bring me a box?”
Gena nodded, and within moments Cain was moving at a rapid pace back to his house.
He pulled out the special phone that all members of the Project 2030 team carried, and sent a group text. Need to have an emergency meeting. Just learned of critical information that will alter our plans for tomorrow.
Twenty minutes later, they were all there, watching him over the secure video link that tied them all together.
“Hope raised the point yesterday that the security guard named Mark Arnold became engaged just a few days ago,” he began. “By itself, that’s not critical to our efforts, but the news generated several premonitions that our belief about a lack of harm to the guards’ loved ones might be incorrect. I followed Gena Adams, the young woman recently engaged to Mark Arnold, this morning. I wanted to see if there were any encounters with the Hunters that might provide evidence that she, or the MacLeans, are in greater danger than we suspected.” He paused. “Unfortunately, my eavesdropping efforts today suggest that is the case. Porthos, through clever dialogue, extracted from Gena the news that Will is married. The Hunters will now be required to call upon the Assassin to execute Hope. Porthos’ thoughts also betrayed the fact that he will definitely go after Gena now, as she provided him that information, and their conversation was extensive enough that she’d be able to identify him.”
Eva spoke first. “Until now, we had not known how they got the information about Will’s marriage, only that they were aware as they brought the Assassin along specifically to target Hope. We now know how they obtained that information. His thought specific to executing Gena Adams in the aftermath must be addressed in the context of our larger plan.”
“The expectation has been that the families would remain unharmed, because the Hunters wouldn’t want to stick around long enough to target them,” Aaron noted. “Does this new information really change that? Sure, Porthos thinks he needs to eliminate the girl after everything’s done, but he’s thinking that in his current context of the situation. In his mind, their arrival is a surprise to Will, there’s no reason to believe there’s a huge Alliance presence waiting to ambush him, and so on. He’ll find out, and will likely still decide going after her isn’t worth the risk of facing us. So… how does this change anything?”
“Don’t you get it?” Adam shouted. “He’s going to execute her!”
The faces on the screen looked back at him, bewildered at his emotional outburst. Only Eva’s face showed a hint of compassion, borne of the fact that she alone understood Adam’s deeper connection with Gena Adams. “The Assassin plans to execute Hope,” Peter pointed out. “You don’t seem quite as worked up about that.”
“Of course I’m worked up about that,” Adam snapped. “But Hope knows what’s coming, and she can handle herself against the Assassin and all of the Hunters—simultaneously, if needed. And she wouldn’t break a sweat while doing so. Gena is a human with no knowledge of what is to come, and no ability to defend herself against a Hunter even if she did.” His eyes blazed.
“So, what are you suggesting?” Ashley asked. “Are you saying we need to focus our efforts over the next thirty-six hours on locating Gena, along with the wife and son of the other guard, and cloning them because their lives are now at risk?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I’d use a stronger term than just suggesting, too. We have direct proof now that at least one of the other humans has a direct target on her head; do we want to take the chance that the Hunters double back and execute all of them while we’re finishing up in the aftermath of the fire?”
“We don’t know that they’ll go after any of them,” Archie muttered.
“We could split a few people out to guard the families,” Judith offered, cutting off Adam’s rebuke toward Archie.
“We can’t do that,” Adam snapped. “The records show that only two people leave the Estates on Monday: Will and Myra VanderPoole. If any of you leave, or are witnessed outside without going through the gate, we’ve altered history and possibly raised questions in the human and Aliomenti worlds we don’t want asked.”
> “What about you, then?” Archie asked. “You could guard the families in your Cain disguise. You’re pretty well-known around here. And to that point… why couldn’t some of the rest of us discard our human disguises and handle it that way?”
“I suspect that there’s a memory somewhere of Porthos remembering slaughtering Gena, or a police record of her death,” Adam replied. “We can’t prevent that execution from happening if that’s what history records as happening. We can only save her—and all of them—if we clone them over the next thirty-six hours, just as we’re doing for the guards.”
“I think Adam’s solution is the correct one, given the number of variables we cannot account for at the moment,” Eva said. “This change of evidence as to what the Hunters will do on Monday and beyond is something we have not allowed for in our planning. Cloning is the most expeditious means of ensuring that the humans survive the next few days—and I will remind everyone that the survival of the humans was a core requirement we set forth from the beginning of this effort. We must determine what we will do with them in the aftermath of the cloning, however.”
Peter spoke up. “They have to come to our house to go through the cloning process. We have unused space in the basement, and I have a few bedroom nano kits in a closet upstairs. We can build rooms for them in the basement and let them stay with us.” On the screen, Judith nodded.
“Are we agreed, then?” Adam asked.
Heads nodded.
Their plans had changed.
They could only hope that the final outcome wouldn’t change as well.
XVIII
Contingency
January 6, 2030
He hid in the shadows, watching, as the young woman left The Diner after her shift ended.
He’d learned that the young couple had chosen to be frugal with their money, limiting themselves to a single car to share. Mass transit, via the city-wide bus system, brought her close to both home and work, and thus her fiancée used the couple’s only car.
Gena waved goodbye to the owner of The Diner from the doorway. As usual, the man had shooed her out before the final bits of closing-related cleanup were completed. He’d long since stopped offering to drive her home after these late night shifts, allowing her instead to leave a few minutes before he did so that she could catch the bus, the final one each night that would get her within walking distance of the couple’s small apartment.
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