Eye of Heaven

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Pull away, he told himself. Do it now. Hurt her, refuse her, get rid of her. Before she ends up like Elena—dying or dead—and you’re on the ground bleeding your soul out.

  He almost did it. He almost played the strong man, the controlled man, the cold man—a man capable of doing the right thing—but instead he opened his eyes and looked into her face and the weakness that hit him was breathless, damning. He wanted her just too damn much.

  He sat up. Iris squeezed his hand, looking at him as though compassion were the same as breathing and she would breathe for him, keep him alive with only the strength of her heart.

  And God help them both, Blue wanted to let her. Wanted to do the same—love her so hard she would never imagine life without him, never dream of it. Never leave him.

  Dean sighed. “I hate to be the voice of reason in this party, but we need to get the hell out of here. Like, now.”

  “And go where?” Iris challenged. “He has my mother. He has Blue’s brother.”

  “If they’re still alive,” Blue said grimly.

  “I need to know. I need to save her if I can.”

  “We barely escaped last night, Iris. We need a plan. More people.”

  “And where are you going to get more people? You have some other friends stashed away in that jeep? You have an army? We don’t have time to wait.”

  Artur stood, turning just slightly away as he removed his glove and pushed the heel of his palm into his eye, rubbing. A thread of despair touched Blue’s heart, but he pushed it away and focused on Dean. “I shut off your car, but I can fix that. It’s not stuck in the rocks, though, is it?”

  “Nothing that a little elbow-grease can’t solve.” Dean cracked his knuckles, very carefully not looking at Artur. “No cell phone reception out here, so I had to follow your vibes. Right after the tire got caught in the rocks I snared a vision of you two coming our way, and I stopped worrying that we were going to get carried off by wolves or hungry cave-women.”

  “You … caught a vision?” Iris echoed slowly.

  “Dean is clairvoyant,” Blue told her. “A remote-viewer. Give him something of yours to hold and he’ll be able to track you anywhere.”

  “Really,” she said, giving Dean a hard look. “I seem to remember you doing something a bit different to me.”

  “Sheer raw talent. I am so totally multifaceted I make myself sick.” Dean grinned, but it carried an edge. He scratched his chest, and Blue could almost make out the dark lines beneath the thin cotton of his T-shirt: a tattoo set in red stone, red stone set in flesh.

  A low drone filled the air. Blue gazed up at the sky and saw the profile of a small jet ascending. A moment later another followed, and then another. A tiny fleet of eight planes, rising from the desert. The sight made Blue’s teeth hurt, the entire right side of his body ache. “Does Santoso have his own airstrip?”

  Iris stared at the planes. “Don’t know, but it makes sense.”

  Blue glanced at the jeep. “What route did you take, Dean?”

  “East, in a roundabout way. Why?”

  “Santoso keeps motion sensors and security cameras along the borders of his land. I turned off the ones in our path, but that was a small, localized area. If you drove in, chances are you tripped something. They’ll know we’re out here.”

  “So they’ll think we’re a couple of joyriders. They would have tried to stop our asses by now if they thought we were a real threat.”

  Blue was not comforted. “We would have been easy enough to catch last night, but they didn’t follow. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Or maybe it does,” Iris said. “There’s a power struggle going on in that place. Santoso might be God inside the facility, but he’s got someone to answer to. Someone he’s desperate to find an edge over. He thought I was that edge, but if he has my mom, if he doesn’t want me anymore …”

  Unlikely, Blue thought, recalling the note Santoso had written her, his professed love. Even the lengths he had gone to procure her, the time spent stalking her performances. The man was obsessed.

  Which meant that something—or someone—was blocking him now. Running interference.

  “That man who let you go. Broker,” Blue said. “What about him?”

  “He appears to be working for someone other than Santoso,” Iris replied.

  “Perhaps this boss Santoso fears,” Artur rumbled, swinging around to face them. “But if that is the case, then why not simply take the man from power? Dispatch him with a bullet or some accident?”

  “Because he wants something. Santoso’s failure, maybe.”

  “Or your mother,” Blue added.

  “And Daniel?” Iris asked quietly. “You worried before that Santoso would find out the truth about him.”

  “Don’t see how it matters,” Dean said. “Jesus, Blue. You guys always overanalyze these things. Let’s just say they’re nasty fucks and get it over with. Shoot some guns, spray some blood. Give them a taste of their own medicine.”

  “All in a day’s work, right?” Iris narrowed her eyes. “What do the three of you do, really? Blue said he’s a detective, but this—”

  “—is the work,” Dean interrupted smoothly. “Scout’s honor.”

  “It’s the truth,” Blue said. “We do work for a detective agency, but the organization itself is a cover. A legitimate, acceptable excuse for us to get involved in situations where as individuals we just wouldn’t be welcome. It allows us to help people in public without drawing attention to our abilities.”

  “Psychic Boy Scouts? You make it sound like there’re more of you. A lot more.”

  “More than even we have realized,” Artur said in a chilling voice. “For good or ill, there are more.”

  Dean and Blue glanced at each other. Iris opened her mouth, began to ask, but Blue touched her wrist and shook his head. Not now, not here. There was too much to tell. Too much that was confusing and frightening—rival criminal organizations, kidnappings, torture—with nothing to show for all that violence but more mystery.

  Like now.

  Artur turned his gaze on the sky, the planes. “Santoso has been discovered; he knows this now. And you escaped. No matter how much money has been invested in his facility, a man like him will not remain, not when there is so much else at stake.”

  “You’re saying that he’s evacuating,” Blue said. “Killing us would be easier. He has the manpower.”

  “Then I am wrong, yes?”

  Iris squeezed Blue’s hand. “Santoso wouldn’t have gotten rid of my mother that quickly.”

  “So get me into a place where he’s been and I can tell you where he’s going,” Dean said. “All I need is a taste and I’ll be able to track him until kingdom come.”

  Artur sighed. “We must find a way inside that facility. Perhaps I will also be able to—”

  Iris turned sharply. “What—” Blue began to ask, but she held up her hand, silencing him. Both Dean and Artur reached for their guns. She moved, and in less than a heartbeat managed to scale a nearby boulder. She perched at the very top on a sharp crag, supported by nothing more solid than the tips of her toes. She looked like she was floating; her balance was breathtaking, perfect. She stared at the horizon.

  “Do you hear it?” she called down. “Blue, inside your head. Do you hear what’s coming?”

  Blue pushed past his shields, rushing over the bioelectric pulses of the three hearts around him, scanning farther in the direction Iris indicated. For a moment he found nothing—no buzz, no rattle—but then, like a door opening, he felt a rumble inside his head, something coming into range.

  “Helicopters,” he said, heart sinking. “Four of them flying this way. Half a mile and closing.”

  Dean shielded his eyes against the sun. “Direction?”

  “Coming up from behind this hill.”

  He grunted. “Maybe they’re tourists out for a Las Vegas joyride.”

  “Right,” Iris replied. “Feel free to stay here and make a pretty picture w
hile we go run and hide.”

  Dean scowled. Blue gave him a hard look. “I can take them down. I’ll do it easy, just in case.”

  Iris looked back at the horizon, her gaze sweeping up the hill. “Make it fast. I think—”

  A great boom punched the air, a sound so large Blue felt it in his chest, under his feet in the shaking earth as thunder rumbled into a deafening roar. Iris gasped, teetering, but before Blue could panic she caught her balance. Her eyes never left the horizon, the sloping edge of the rocky hill behind them. Which was completely understandable, given the thick cloud of black smoke boiling into the bright blue desert sky.

  “Bozhe moj,” Artur murmured. Blue jogged a short distance away, trying to see more. The smoke continued to billow and churn, the source partially obscured by the hill.

  Dean followed him. “What happened? Did one of the copters go down?”

  “No,” Blue said grimly. “I think the facility just exploded.”

  Iris leaped down from the boulder. “We need to go. The helicopters are close.”

  Her gaze was hard, all business; her emotions were gone, hidden. Just like her mother. And then the moment passed and Blue felt a sliver of uncertainty creep into her face. Fear, maybe. He did not think it was for him.

  Dean ran for the jeep, Artur close behind, keys jingling in his gloved hand. Blue stayed still, concentrating on the approaching helicopters.

  Tourists, my ass.

  Still, he was careful. Just in case. One little disruption from the engine to the rotor transmission—

  Blue’s cell phone rang. Everyone turned to stare at him.

  “I thought you couldn’t get cell phone reception out here,” Iris said.

  Artur checked his phone. “Mine is still out.”

  Dean shook his head. “I saw this movie, man. Real ugly ending. Don’t answer the damn phone.”

  But it kept ringing. Blue looked at the screen. No number, just ID UNAVAILABLE. What a surprise.

  He answered the call, putting it on speaker.

  “Hello, Mr. Perrineau,” said a smooth voice. Familiar, though the distortion was bad enough that Blue could not quite place it.

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I would take it as a personal favor if you did not take down those helicopters. That was what you were going to do, I assume.”

  Blue glanced at his friends, all of whom looked distinctly unsettled. Dean turned, slowly scanning the land around them. Iris joined him, eyes glowing.

  “I think I have a right to protect myself and my friends,” Blue said, returning his focus to the helicopters, which still were drawing near. The loud chop-chop of the rotors filled the air. Just one touch of his mind and—

  A bullet slammed into the boulder beside Blue’s head. Rock sprayed, clipping his face as he threw himself on top of Iris, taking them both to the ground. The phone clattered on the rocks, but the man speaking still came through loud and clear.

  “Let’s try this again, Mr. Perrineau. Don’t take down the birds. If you do, I will shoot someone.”

  “I don’t see an energy trail,” Dean muttered. He and Artur lay on their stomachs. Iris’s breath was hot against Blue’s neck.

  “You okay?” she murmured.

  “That’s supposed to be my line.”

  Her teeth touched his throat. “I’m quicker on the draw.”

  He pressed his lips against her forehead and pushed out beyond his shields, searching for a heartbeat, some sign of electric life. The helicopters were almost on top of them.

  Another crack, another bullet in the ground by Blue’s foot.

  “Don’t look for me,” said the man.

  There was obviously no need to hide his gifts. Blue said, “I could kill you faster than you can pull that trigger.”

  “Violence or peace. Hot or cold. You’re a man of extremes, Mr. Perrineau. Just like your father. And your brother.”

  Dean’s cell phone began to ring. Everyone stared at his hip. Blue was almost certain the man on the other end of the line had laughter in his voice when he said, “That’s my associate. He also has a gun. So please, just give it up, Mr. Perrineau. This is all for your benefit, I can assure you.”

  Blue did not want to give it up. He wanted to find the little turd and shove that gun up his ass. Unfortunately, the decision was taken out of his hands. The helicopters roared over the hill behind them, four strong, quick and small and black. Dust kicked up, blinding, but Blue could still see clearly enough to make out men in gray bodysuits—armed with rifles—leaning out of each aircraft. Too late to crash them. The gunmen, on the other hand …

  “Stay where you are,” said the man on the phone. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Blue began to sit up, but Iris grabbed the front of his shirt.

  “I’m still not human,” she said, and all that charm, all that easy courage she had just shown him began to fade from her golden eyes.

  He gathered her close, holding her as tightly as he dared, and called out to Dean and Artur. The two men crawled close.

  “Iris doesn’t want all of those people to see her like this,” Blue said, forced to shout over the roar of the rotor blades. “Give us cover while she shifts.”

  No argument, no questions; Dean and Artur arranged themselves on either side of Blue and Iris, practically resting on top of them. Blue caught the Russian’s eye; his friend nodded, expression dark, serious, sad. It made his heart hurt, because despite Artur’s intentions, his anger, a good man was still in there. And he was dying right along with his wife.

  Blue looked at Iris. “Okay, sweetheart. You can shift now. We’ve got you covered.”

  “Silly, huh?” Iris said, her gaze sliding sideways to Dean and Artur. “The other man … he must have already seen me.”

  Dean grinned. “Ladies are not to be questioned, darlin’.”

  “Only obeyed,” Blue finished gently. “Go on, now. Do your thing.”

  And she did, fur melting into smooth, pale skin, bone and muscle flowing like water to shape the woman he remembered. Red hair tumbled around her perfect face. Iris never broke eye contact during the transformation; it was as if no one existed but her and him, no one in the world. Even the roar of the helicopters dimmed.

  Then it was over, done, and he found in her gaze a breathless vulnerability, a quiet fear that made him reach out and brush her lips with his fingertips.

  “Hey,” he said. “Hey, now. I’m still here.”

  Iris closed her eyes. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting to feel quite so different outside of my other skin.”

  Blue glanced at his friends. Dean, for once, had no pithy remarks. He sat up, surrounded by a whirlwind of dust.

  “Keep covering her,” he shouted at Blue, and began peeling off his shirt. Artur reached out and stopped him. “Your chest, Dean. You have as much to hide. Let me.”

  Dean hesitated, but Artur had already begun unbuttoning his black shirt. He gave it to Blue, who pulled back just enough to help Iris put her arms through the sleeves. She looked very young; Blue could not help but wish it were his shirt she was wearing.

  Three of the helicopters moved a short distance away and began to descend. Blue helped Iris stand, watching as the shirt fell to midthigh. She began buttoning it immediately, and glanced up at Artur. Blue saw her eyes flick over his pale chest, the thin white scars.

  “Thanks,” she said, but he did not reply or look at her or Blue.

  The three helicopters touched down. The men did not leave the aircraft, but continued to keep their weapons trained on Blue and his friends. He thought about ending it, taking out all the people in front of him, and that shooter in the sky—but as he had the previous night, he held himself back.

  See what they have to say. Find out what’s going on.

  Because with the facility gone, they needed another way to track Santoso.

  Dean pointed. “That must be our sneaky little bastard.”

  Blue lo
oked and saw a man running out of the desert. The sun was in his eyes, blinding him to details, but he listened to that heartbeat and pulse, and wondered why in the hell he had not heard it earlier.

  Of course, none of that mattered the moment Blue managed to get a good look at who had pinned them.

  Familiar, bland, dressed in a cheap flapping suit with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He held a rifle, which he balanced on his shoulder.

  “You,” Blue said.

  “Bozhe moj,” Artur muttered. “Bastard.”

  Agent Fred smiled.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  So. Brain explosion. Iris figured she had it coming.

  The helicopter interior was sparse, angular, the seat hard as rock beneath her naked backside. The sun hit her face through the tinted window, and even though the aircraft had air-conditioning, that light on her cheek was hot as hell, and there sitting in front of her was the devil himself in all his mundane glory, smiling with an unlit cigarette flopping like a toothpick between his lips.

  “You are one son of a bitch,” she said to Fred, for what was probably the tenth time. She had to speak through a microphone attached to the headset squashed on her ears. Not that she could complain. The roar of the rotors felt like pure pain to her eardrums; her hearing was already sensitive enough without more chainsaws going at it inside her head.

  “Wasn’t aware you know my mother,” Fred replied. His rifle lay across his lap. Another man dressed in gray sat in the chair beside him, also armed—as were Blue, Dean, and Artur. No one had been forced to give up their weapons. Not that all those guns did anyone a bit of good; having a shootout thousands of feet aboveground in a small and highly complex machine required a level of stupidity that probably deserved a quick and fiery death.

  Blue touched her hand—in warning or comfort, she was not quite certain, but it did not stop her from an indelicate snort, a rough laugh. “Funny … not. I thought you worked for the FBI.”

  Fred shrugged. “I have a thing for badges and damsels in distress. Occupational hazard.”

  “Do not listen to anything he tells you,” Artur said from his cramped seat directly behind Iris. “This man is a criminal. He works for other criminals.”