Enemies: The Girl in the Box, Book Seven

by Crane, Robert J.

  “Oooooh,” Weissman said, gleefully, almost ominously. “I like the sound of that.” The relish was evident in his voice. “I heard you did in all of M-Squad. One by one, brutal when necessary, clever by turn, and even improvised a couple times when you were backed into a corner.” He leered at me, and something about him reminded me of Rick. “Shame about Old Man Winter, though. Were you surprised when he ran from you? The big bad? The Old Man, running from the little girl?”

  “Not really,” I said. “If the choice was run or die, wouldn’t you try and get away?”

  “Oh, come on,” Weissman said with a chuckle, “you don’t have to lie to me. He broke your hand off and threw you from a plane. You were no threat to him at the end. Maybe at the beginning, if you’d taken that shot at the plane window, but once he’d disarmed you?” He laughed again, presumably at the pun. “Nah. I wouldn’t want to be him the next time you cross paths, but he beat you. Fair and square. The game was over, and you lost.” He cocked his head and pretended to be concerned. “How’d that feel?”

  I glared down at him. “Would you like to find out?”

  “You don’t need to threaten me,” he said coolly, without an ounce of concern.

  “Why?” I asked. “Because you’ll do what I say and answer whatever I ask?”

  “Hell, no,” he said with a deeper laugh, one far more sincere than the last. “Because you couldn’t intimidate me into talking if you emptied every bullet you had into the most painful nerve endings on my body. Because you could beat me to within an inch of my life and it’d still be amateur work compared to what I’ve seen before.” He shrugged and laughed lightly. “Because even if you had any power over me—which, hey, smart girl—you don’t,” his voice went cold as he said it, “you couldn’t intimidate me because I’ve been intimidated by the most frightening men who have ever walked the earth.” He folded his fingers across one another, steepling them. “But you can give it a try, if you want. Ask your questions. I’ll answer some of them.” He pulled one of his fingers out of the steepling. “But if you get uppity with me? You’ll find out why I’m the one holding the power in this room. And you do not want me … as your enemy.”

  “I kinda think you already are,” I said, with only a brief glance back to Breandan to find him white-faced, staring blankly at Weissman. “So … Sovereign.”

  “So … what?” Weissman fired back. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”

  “Why does Sovereign want all the metas in the world dead?” I asked, looking down the sights at Weissman.

  Weissman laughed, loudly and tonelessly. “Sovereign could not care any less about killing all the metas of the world.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk, and I caught a glimpse of some meanness in him, buried deep, a dark sliver of something terrible. “That’s my program, not his.”

  I blinked, trying to reconcile what I knew of Century to what Weissman had told me. “Isn’t Sovereign your leader?”

  Weissman smiled a nasty grin. “Sure. But he doesn’t call all the shots.”

  I chewed that one over for a minute. “If Sovereign doesn’t care if the metas of the world are killed … why do you?”

  Weissman seemed to sink back in his chair at that, like he could draw back into the shadows against the wall behind his desk. “Because they’re a threat, obviously.”

  “Oh, well, obviously,” I said in total sarcasm. “Except your leader doesn’t seem to think so.” I considered that for a moment and felt a tingle that came with realization. “He doesn’t think they’re a threat to him. But they’re a threat to you?”

  Weissman smiled, this time less nastily, but only a little less. “I’d heard you were smart. Not bad. Yeah, they’re a threat to me. Minor at best, but still. Sovereign … as you call him … he’s not what you’d consider a real ‘hands-on’ leader. Day to day, I’m in charge. And my job is a lot harder with three thousand metas walking the earth, interfering in my plans.”

  I blinked at him, trying to process that information. “You think that in a world without metas, you can conquer humanity?”

  He laughed, and leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Sweetheart, I know it for a fact.”

  Kill him.

  I pulled the trigger instinctively without thinking about it at the first words from Wolfe, and only after the shot rang out did I reconsider. It didn’t matter, because the moment the muzzle flared, Weissman was gone. The shot hit the empty chair and padded stuffing flew out of the back, creating a little cloud of rubberized foam that settled quickly.

  “Uhm …” Breandan’s voice echoed in the small office, “where is he?”

  I heard the thump of something being hit and spun to find Breandan, wide-eyed and flung toward me. I didn’t have time to react before he caught me in the side and the two of us went crashing into the desk. I felt a rib crack and I cringed as I went down. I suppressed the temptation to scream in pain.

  “The real question,” Weissman’s calm, assured voice came from where Breandan had been standing only a moment earlier, “is when is he?” He looked down at us, running his tongue around in his mouth as he leered down at us, totally unworried.

  Breandan groaned in pain as he sat up, and I followed after he lifted his weight off me. “Is this a riddle of some sort?”

  “If so, I expect you’d fail, Irish,” Weissman said, examining his fingernails as if there was something trifling beneath them. “I warned you I was the one holding the power in the room.”

  “And here I was trying to figure out why you were so damned arrogant.” I propped myself up and didn’t bother pointing the gun at him. “You can control the flow of time.”

  Weissman smiled. “You really are a clever one. Most people don’t get that until it’s far too late.” His smile grew into a grin. “Of course, if it weren’t for the special instructions I have regarding you, it’d be too late for you by now. As it is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill your friend now—”

  “Wait,” I said, and Weissman cocked his head at me in curiosity. “If you have control of the flow of time—and I presume you can, what? Speed it up?” He nodded. “Slow it down?” He nodded again. “Make it stop?”

  He smiled. “If necessary.”

  “Then why the need for all these gun thugs?” I asked, slowly getting back to my feet. “Why the kill teams, why send the metas up to Ireland to wipe out those cloisters?” I watched his reaction for this, but he didn’t bat an eye, didn’t reveal a thing. “You could do it yourself, every bit of it.”

  He gave me a grudging nod. “I could, technically.”

  “You could, but …?” I waited a moment. “But it bores you? It’s beneath you?”

  He laughed. “Probably. But no. You’re fishing. All right, fine. Here’s a nugget that won’t get you anywhere.” His eyes turned serious, but the laugh lines remained at his eyes even as a little worry crept in at the corners. “Because there’s another meta out there with this power, this ability I have. If I stop time, it stops for both of us. Same if he were to do it. Now, he doesn’t—or does it exceedingly rarely, anyway. Call it a gentleman’s agreement between the last two of us left—we don’t inflict this slow-stop stuff on each other.”

  I thought about that one for a beat. “Aren’t you about to wipe out every meta on the planet?”

  “Close,” Weissman said, this time with less smile, less assurance. “But not all.”

  “So your friend with the same power as yours,” I said lightly, “he doesn’t take kindly to you messing with his world?”

  Weissman’s irritation flared. “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you meant.” I gave him an infuriating smile. “That was the subtext, outside of your puffery, that this other guy, with your power, he scares the shit out of you. Enough that you won’t push the boundaries because you’re afraid of him.”

  Weissman gave me a humorless smile, started to say something harsh but waited until he’d calmed for a second. “Like
I said, you’re smart.”

  “And you’re scared.” I licked my lips. “How do you think this friend of yours will take it when you end up wiping out most of the metas on the planet?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t care about that,” Weissman said, and the genuine, mean and nasty smile returned. “He’s far too preoccupied with his own navel gazing.”

  I smiled back, and this time I saw a flash of annoyance from him. “So this guy … you’re scared of him? And he’s not Sovereign?”

  Weissman rolled his eyes. “You’re a little too clever for you own good.”

  I wondered how fast he could move; if he could stop time in a blink. “Why, thank you, Mr. Weissman. I don’t suppose you’d kindly tell me where this meta is? This one you fear, this one that you’re not going to mess with, even as you exterminate every other on the planet?”

  Weissman laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about him. If the day comes that he works his way toward being a threat, Sovereign will take care of him. No, I’d be worrying about your little friend here.” Weissman gestured toward Breandan, who stood with his back to me, eyes on Weissman.

  “Why would I worry about him?” I asked. “You already said you’re going to kill him. I can’t hit you, I can’t hurt you. Ergo, he’s screwed.” I shrugged at Breandan, who looked back at me with a sort of muted horror. “Sorry. I can’t stop time, or slow him down, and he basically has the ability to teleport anywhere in the room, or show up behind us, or just leave until we’re gone. He could sit here and watch us until we’ve left, then follow us back to where we’re staying and kill us there.” I looked at Weissman. “Except you can’t. Because if you stall time for too long, he’ll get pissed at you, whoever he is.” I smiled. “So … how long can you stop time before he gets mad? Or does it have a cumulatively annoying effect?”

  Weissman sighed. “Long enough to kill him and then leave town, which, if you really took McClaren’s soul, you’d know I was planning to do anyway.”

  “After you kill another few metas, as I recall,” I said. “Your business in London is hardly concluded.”

  “So you want to be a pain in my ass, huh?” Weissman said coldly. “Keep in mind that while I can’t kill you, my orders say nothing about beating you into unconsciousness and chaining you to a radiator for the next forty-eight hours.”

  “You know what, Dr. Time?” I grinned at him. “You’re welcome to try. You’ll probably even succeed, being the amazing badass you clearly are with your abilities. But I wonder if you can—”

  “Just stop right there,” Weissman said. “If you’re waiting on some mythical meta I told you about to come save your ass from me, don’t. I assure you, I can pulp you and your pal with the greatest of ease and leave the area without raising his eyebrow.”

  “Now we’re learning,” I said. “Let me ask you something about your power—”

  “Enough fishing,” he snapped. “We’re done with the conversational portion of this meeting.”

  “So that just leaves the fighting, then?” I quipped.

  “I know you meant that to be funny,” Weissman said, almost with an air of pity, “but it’s not going to be quite so hilarious when you’re stepping in a pool of your friend’s blood.

  “Well, go on then,” I said, waving him toward Breandan, who turned back and gave me a how could you? look. “I can’t stop you, he can’t stop you.” I locked eyes with Breandan. “Looks like my luck’s run out.” His widened, and then he gave a subtle motion of the hand toward me.

  “I think you mean his,” Weissman said with a leer.

  “Sure,” I said and snapped off a shot from the hip at him.

  True to form, Weissman disappeared before the bullet struck. I spun and fired from the hip at the empty space in front of Breandan, who didn’t even have time to react before the bullets were on their way, whizzing in front of his face. There was a scream of pain and suddenly a figure was lying prostrate on the floor in front of Breandan, clutching his shoulder. I was on him a second later, my hand around his neck, my fingers wrapped around the soft flesh, choking him and willing my powers to work faster.

  “Now, Mr. Weissman,” I said with a smile as I knelt astride him. He grunted in pain as he held his wounded shoulder, “Let’s see what you know.”

  “Lucky shot,” Weissman hissed through gritted teeth as I gripped his throat tighter and felt the first stirrings of my power at work on him.

  I shot a glance at Breandan, who looked to be trying to catch his breath. “The very definition of one.”

  “You think you win on a lucky shot?” Weissman said, the pain entering his voice. “Let me tell you something about me, about Century. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more lucky shots to take us down than you’ve got in you.” He gave me a burning glare of defiance and then was gone, disappeared from my grip as I fell to the ground from where I had been kneeling atop him.

  “Oh, shite,” Breandan said in alarm from above me. I looked up at him and swallowed heavily, waiting for the blow to fall. The air was still and quiet in the office, and as I started to stand something slammed into my back so hard I was driven to my knees. A moment later I saw Breandan fall, flipping behind the desk after a blow to the face.

  “Did you think you could beat me?” came Weissman’s voice from above me. “Did you really think you could conquer someone who has mastery over time?” Fingers grabbed me around the back of the neck and drove me into the floor, hard. The concrete rushed up to meet me and I felt something break, a stabbing pain above my eye telling me that things were most certainly not all right at the moment, at least not in the realm of my face. “You are such an arrogant little twat. If I didn’t have to spare you,” he spun me around and held me by the front of my shirt, “you’d already be dead.” He clubbed me across the face with brutal speed, and my head snapped back, dazing me further. “So you get to live. But,” he said with a smile, “I’m gonna leave you in so much pain that you’ll wish for the next twenty-four hours that I’d killed you.” He hit me again, and I heard cracking in the back of my neck from the force of the blow. I tried to lift a hand to grab his, but there was no feeling in my fingers, or my feet, or anywhere else in my body.

  Weissman stood. “And I’m gonna start by slaughtering your little friend while you watch.” He straightened the cuffs of his suit coat. “By the time I’m done, I’m gonna have to keep you from drowning in his blood.” He pointed a thin finger at my face. “Remember—it could have been easy. Now it’s gonna be long, drawn out and torturous. And it’s all your fault. Watch and learn, little girl—”

  There was a stir in the air, and it took on a savage ferocity, like a storm blasting through. Something whipped through the air and caught Weissman, flinging him. Whether he couldn’t use his power or something was stopping him, I didn’t know, but he hit the back wall of the office and came to a landing behind the desk. He sprung to his feet a moment later, holding his still-bleeding shoulder and staring at the office door. I wanted to turn to see what he was looking at, but I couldn’t move my neck.

  “Well, well, well,” Weissman said, almost snarling, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “No?” came a familiar voice from the door. It was youthful, vibrant, something so reassuring about it. “I’m guessing you didn’t expect to see anyone here. But the problem with you Century guys is that the longer you’re running this little extinction operation, the more time you give us to hunt your asses down.”

  “Congratulations,” Weissman gave a faux clap of his hands, like a little round of applause that was limited by the awkward way he had to hold the shoulder I’d shot. “You’re way behind, but hey, you finally found our London base. Now … do you honestly believe that you can stop me before I leave?”

  “No,” came the voice in reply. “But there are six of us and one of you. I may not be able to stop you right off, but I bet I can keep you tied up until your friend across the world gets pissed off and decides to intervene.” There was a pause and I saw Weissman’s
face fall. “Yeah, I know about him. So … you wanna rumble? Because I just tossed your ass once, and I’m thinking I can probably do it again if necessary.”

  “Lucky shot,” Weissman said.

  “I’ve got more where that came from.”

  Weissman clicked his tongue. “You played this all wrong. You could have come at me, put up a hard press. You might even have gotten me, if you’d just given up the girl.” He smiled, and it was cold, brutal, mean—everything I’d come to expect from Weissman after just one encounter. “But hey … fair enough. You win. I’ll walk away for now.” He gave the figure in the doorway a near-salute. “See you real soon.” He cast his gaze to me. “Don’t think this settles anything. You can’t protect her. Not from me if I came for her, and damned sure not from him.”

  “He better not come anywhere near her,” came the reply, along with a slow, even, near grinding of teeth along with the words.

  “You think you can stop Sovereign?” Weissman said with that same smile. “Oh, that’s a laugh. You are so out of your depth. Good luck. I believe I’d give it up if I were you. He did kill your father, after all; I doubt he’d have much more trouble with you.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Weissman rolled his eyes. “What is it with you kids these days? Fine. Die, then. You’re destined for it anyway. Just don’t be surprised when it’s ugly and painful and bloody and everything you’ve ever feared.” His eyes locked onto the figure at the door and stared him down. “The worst part will be that in your dying moments, you’ll have to live with the knowledge of what he might do to her after you’re dead.” Weissman’s nasty smile came back full force. “Hell of a thing to die thinking about, wouldn’t you say? I hope she’s worth it.”

  “She’s worth it.”

  Weissman shrugged. “If you say so.” With a blink of my eye, he was gone, but I heard the last thing he said before he disappeared and I fell unconscious. My eyes closed slowly, and things around me faded to black as the last words echoed in my head.