“With all due respect, sir, those officers were on the verge of committing police brutality,” said Thorne.
“Those protestors were on the verge of a riot, what did you expect them to do? And then there’s Oklahoma City! The CraftWorld headquarters have pretty much been leveled by that psychopath. It was three to one and they still couldn’t stop her from causing widespread destruction!”
“Mr. President, things don’t always go the way you wish in combat. They did the best they could, and not a single life was lost. I’m counting that as a victory.”
Hayworth frowned on the screen and settled into his chair. “Too bad the rest of the world sees it differently, Thorne. The House is contemplating a full investigation into Vanguard. Discover how they have access to all this technology and whose side they’re really on. And there’s also been talk about regulating specials.”
“‘Regulating’?” asked Thorne. “How are you going to regulate human beings?”
“I’d say that’s a very good question, and one neither of us wants to see answered,” said Hayworth. “Some are already suspecting that Vanguard is working with Zephyr.”
Thorne slammed his fist on his desk. “That’s ridiculous! They stopped her from killing Palmer!”
“That’s a detail the media’s not overly concerned with. Confronting the police in Arkansas and the destruction in Oklahoma is enough to make them skeptical. Meanwhile, Russia has been screaming at the UN’s Security Council to take action on this. They’re using Zephyr as ammunition to trumpet their own cause. Your team needs to find her before she causes any more damage, and before she gets any more support from the population.”
The President abruptly ended the call at that point. Thorne took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He opened one of the drawers in his desk and took out a box made of Spanish cedar. Setting it on the surface, he opened the box and produced a Cohiba. He sniffed the length of the cigar and the scent soothed him. There was a knock at the door and Thorne told them to enter. McCabe walked in and saw the cigar in the Colonel’s hand.
“Wasn’t aware you smoked, Leo.”
“I used to.” Thorne held the cigar vertically and stared at it. “It’s Cuban. Picked these up when I was stationed overseas. This box is what remains from that stash.”
“When did you quit?”
“Five years ago.” Thorne set the cigar back in the box. “That’s when my father-in-law died of lung cancer. Wife said it was long-past time for me to quit.”
“So why still have them?”
“The smell of the tobacco leaves helps me relax.”
McCabe sat down in front of the desk. “Aren’t you worried you’ll be tempted to smoke again?”
“You don’t know my wife.” Thorne gave a small smile and closed the box. “I’d sooner go ten rounds with Ali in his prime with my hands tied behind my back than risk pissing her off. No, it’d take something big to get me to light one of these babies up again.”
“Seems you could use a reason to relax. Thought I heard shouting from outside?”
“The President.” Thorne sat back in his chair. “People are getting nervous out there. We have to bring this Zephyr down. How’s the team doing?”
“Koji sustained some injuries but nothing serious. Erin’s a bit shaken up over Arkansas. Basically, everyone’s tense.”
“Gather everyone together, we need to figure out our next move.”
***
The Atlas’ monitor room was located in what was once the command control center, with screens lining the walls and a round table placed in the room with enough seats for both the team members and their support. The monitors were all active, streaming news broadcasts from various networks, and all of them reporting on the events in either Oklahoma or Arkansas. Panels of pundits debated the role of Vanguard in these events, with particular emphasis placed on the team’s actions when confronting riot police in Arkansas. A few politicians as well were being interviewed.
“I think these events have made it clear that these specials are wild cannons, and we need to begin a full investigation into their actions and loyalties.”
“Who appointed these people? Vanguard is reckless and their actions both in Chicago and Oklahoma have provoked other specials from acting out, while they also undermined law enforcement in Arkansas.”
“The one thing we have to ask ourselves is where have they acquired such advanced technology? This looks like military hardware and we need to examine their loyalties. If they’re associated with the Pentagon, why have we heard nothing but silence from the White House? Or worse, how do we know they aren’t serving a foreign power?”
“This woman—Zephyr—is nothing more than a domestic terrorist and if Vanguard is going to devote more resources to attacking our brave men and women in uniform, then we shouldn’t rule out the possibility that they’re in league together.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” said Anita. “Can we turn this crap off?”
“Mute,” said Thorne and the audio silenced, but the monitors maintained the video feeds. “This underscores a severe problem we’re dealing with. Zephyr is becoming a huge problem, and not just because of her politics or her powers. She’s creating chaos for us as a result—and by extension, specials everywhere. I just got off the phone with the President and he says there are some in Congress calling for specials to be registered in a national database.”
“This is bull,” said Koji. “Maybe we didn’t catch her, but we sure as hell saved lives out in Oklahoma.”
“We all know the real problem here.” Dom threw a hard gaze at Anita. “Someone couldn’t be bothered to stick to the mission.”
Anita met his gaze without a flinch. “Our mission was to protect people. That’s what I was doing.”
“You were there to find Zephyr and protect the target, not to join a group of looters and moochers in their stupid little protest.”
“That’s their right, I was preventing it from being infringed on,” said Anita. “And I was protecting my teammate.”
“That’s enough, both of you,” said Jim, but his voice was quickly drowned out by the raised voices of Anita and Dom.
“And besides, you’re a fine one to accuse others of being ‘looters’ and ‘moochers,’” said Anita. “Or do you think we forgot about how you used to make a living?”
“Y’know what, I’m not gonna sit here and be lectured on morality!”
Thorne jumped to his feet and slammed his fist on the table. “Shut up! Do you understand what sort of pressure we’re under? Those bobble-heads on TV were right about one thing—this woman is a domestic terrorist and her actions are going to reflect on us. We’ve got a lot at stake here, and Congressional investigations are just the tip of the iceberg. If we’re going to stop Zephyr, then we need to work together to find out who she is, where she is, and how we can shut her down. But we can’t do that if you’re too busy sniping at each other. Understood?”
Anita and Dom sulked in their chairs, like children who’d just been scolded by their father. Neither could bring themselves to look at the other, or anyone else for that matter. Thorne took a deep breath to regain his composure and sat back down.
“Thank you. Now, we need to know how to find her. Do we have any ideas?”
“Palmer’s still alive, think she might go after him again?” asked Koji.
Jim shook his head. “He’s been placed in protective custody, so no one knows where he is. Even if he were still in the public eye, Zephyr wouldn’t go after him with all this new scrutiny.”
“What about Hamilton?” asked Erin. “He could be a target, too.”
“Possibly, but after Arkansas, Zephyr knows we’re watching him,” said Jim. “I think we’re at a loss until she makes her next move.”
“Can we trace her videos?” asked McCabe.
“That was my first course of action,” said Zenith. “She’s quite proficient at covering her proverbial tracks.”
“There’s got to be something w
e can link to her,” said McCabe.
Koji shrugged. “She looked like she had a nice body under that trench coat.” Erin jabbed her elbow into his arm and he grimaced. “Ow! Sorry.”
“She is an activist, perhaps explore any material related to her targets, with a specific focus on negative Internet comments on social networks,” said Zenith.
“Seems like a lot of work,” said Thorne.
“I could write an algorithm, have it begin searching for those given parameters,” said Zenith. “I cannot guarantee that it will provide us a direct link to Zephyr, nor can I guarantee that it will not implicate innocent people. But perhaps she slipped up somewhere.”
“It’s a start,” said Thorne. “Any other ideas?”
“I’ve got one,” said Jim. “We hold a press conference.”
Everyone gave him a confused look. “Come again?” asked Thorne.
“Part of the problem everyone has with us is our secrecy,” said Jim. “So let’s pull back the curtain a little. We hold a press conference, tell people why we’re here and what we’re doing, without revealing any personal, identifiable information about ourselves and without revealing our connections to the White House. It might get public support back on our side, and could also serve to bring Zephyr out of hiding.”
“The President did say we’d be given autonomy. So long as we don’t reveal where our support comes from, this seems like it certainly falls in that category,” said McCabe.
“He won’t like it, I can tell you that right now,” said Thorne.
“So don’t tell him. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?” said Dom with a smile.
Thorne chortled. “So you do occasionally listen to what I say.”
Dom shrugged. “Your voice carries, sometimes I can’t help it.”
“If I agree to this—and note my emphasis on the word if—what exactly would you say?” asked Thorne.
***
The man in a white suit and black turtleneck walked through the corridors of the underground complex, hands clasped behind his back. His silver hair was combed back so tightly, it practically clung to his skull and barely moved with his stride. When he turned a corner, he faced two guards standing on either side of a door, dressed in body armor and holding automatic rifles against their chests, red masks concealing their faces. They remained stationary as the man known only as the Analyst stopped at the door to allow the scanner at the top of the frame to flash a green light over his eyes. A beep of confirmation followed and the door slid open.
The room was dark, the lights on the dimmest setting. The Analyst stepped inside and rubbed the edges of his thin mustache, with the door sliding shut behind him. “Professor Azarov?”
A figure moved in the dark, and the doctor moved closer. The Analyst could see the dim light reflected off Erik Azarov’s glass eye. “What can I do for you, my friend?”
“The Master would like to know what you have uncovered,” said the Analyst.
Azarov chuckled. “Ah yes, your ‘master.’ Tell him my work is at a delicate stage.”
The Analyst glanced up at the lights. “Perhaps you’d proceed faster if you could see better.”
“I can see in the dark, this light is more than sufficient,” said Azarov.
“Very well. Tell me what progress you’ve made.”
Azarov gestured over to his work bench where the Analyst could vaguely see the outline of a microscope. “I’ve been studying the samples you provided. This is from that special in Chicago—the Exemplar, yes?”
“That’s correct.”
“Remarkable specimen. But I fear I am slightly limited in working only from these samples.” Despite the darkness, the Analyst could easily see the twisted grin that spread across the face of the Cold War Frankenstein. “Imagine what I could accomplish if I were permitted to examine this man directly.”
The Analyst sighed. “We’ve been over this, Professor. The Master’s orders were quite clear. You are to work separate from the Exemplar. He is more than just a science experiment, the Master has great plans for him.”
“And you follow your master without question?”
The Analyst gave a nod. “He has saved us from the ashes of a broken life. We owe him our fealty.”
“You do, I do not.”
The Analyst was prepared to offer a rebuttal, but the piercing sound of his phone’s ringtone stopped him cold. He kept his gaze locked on Azarov as he drew the phone from his jacket pocket. “Excuse me.” He hit the answer button and brought the device to his ear. “Yes?” He listened quietly to the person on the other end of the line, turning his back on Azarov for a moment. “They have? I see. Monitor the situation and keep me appraised of any further developments.”
The Analyst returned the phone to his pocket and turned to face the Russian scientist. “It seems Vanguard has just announced that they will hold a press conference, of all things.”
“So?”
“They’re trying to take control of the specials debate, refocus it,” said the Analyst. “That may advance our timetable. Speed up your efforts, Professor.”
“I will of course try, but it may be some time,” said Azarov. “Without the luxury of a subject to experiment on directly, I may not be able to determine how to activate a latent special gene. Or if it is even possible.”
The Analyst sighed deeply and then stared at his companion. “If there is one thing your work has proven, it is that nothing is impossible. Do not fail us, Professor.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Take it however you wish,” said the Analyst. “If you’ll excuse me, I must inform the Master of these new developments.”
***
Anita couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing the face of the man who called himself the Khagan. But with each dream she slipped into, his face became more and more obscured. All she could recall with any clarity was the image of the rising red fist on the banners that flanked his throne.
She sat up in bed, her fingers rubbing her temples. Anita leaned over to the nightstand and opened the drawer where there were a number of bottles containing pain relief medication. She took a bottle of ibuprofen and twisted off the cap, dropping several pills into the palm of her hand. It was far more than the recommended dose, but this pain was unique and she found that she had to rely on more and more pills to keep her migraines at bay. Anita clamped her hand over her mouth and threw her head back, the pills falling on her tongue. She took the glass of water from the stand and drank what was left to help her swallow.
Anita brought her knees up, placing her elbows on them and holding her head. She stayed like that, almost paralyzed, until the pain subsided. Once the pain reached a bearable level, she stood from the bed and took the now-empty glass. She wore a tank top and loose, comfortable pants. Anita walked to her room’s door, sliding her feet into the slippers waiting there and stepped out.
She took the elevator up to the kitchen area and refilled her water glass from the tap. Anita looked at the large television set in the lounge area and considered watching something to take her mind off things. Instead, she took the elevator up further and then walked across the tunnel connecting the main complex to the control center. Everyone else in Atlas was asleep, with the exception of her and Zenith.
The robot stood in the monitor room, watching the screens flicker. The images there moved so fast, and she couldn’t imagine how anyone could possibly process that much information at one time.
“Good evening, Anita.”
Despite hearing it so many times, his cold voice still had a tendency to surprise her. “You’re up late.”
“I do not sleep. Why are you awake? You should be resting for tomorrow’s press conference.”
Anita raised the glass. “Just needed some water. How’s the search coming?”
“The algorithm has found some matches.”
“How many?” She began to sip the water.
“Approximately one million, t
wo hundred-thousand, five hundred and seventy-eight.”
Anita nearly choked on her water at that number and broke into a coughing fit. Zenith’s head rotated to look at her. “Are you okay?”
Anita nodded, hitting her chest a few times as her coughing began to subside. “Just wasn’t expecting that.” She took another drink, slower this time. “How can you sort through that many?”
“It’s part of the search. I will now attempt to narrow down the results.”
Anita took a seat at the large meeting table.
“It’s the headaches, is it not?”
“What?” she asked.
“That is why you’re awake, the headaches.”
She looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You have exhibited signs of mental anguish when using your abilities. I surmised the reason for this is a headache induced by the increased strain on your mind, given the telekinetic nature of your powers.”
Anita considered sticking with the denial anger. But she also knew Zenith could be the only way she could get the answers Thorne’s superiors still refused to provide. “Did you tell Thorne or McCabe?”
Zenith shook his head. “I have not, yet I am concerned. You are one of the most powerful and our teammates rely on you in the field. If you are compromised in any way, have a weakness such as this, it should be addressed.”
“I can handle it.”
“Perhaps it would be better if—”
“Zenith, please. I’m asking you to just keep quiet about this for now. As a friend.” She looked into the soft glow of his blue eyes. “Can you do that for me?”
Zenith held her gaze and turned to focus on the monitors. He remained silent for several minutes, and Anita wondered if he had even heard what she said or if he was simply ignoring her. “Zenith?”
“You are asking me to lie to Colonel Thorne and Dr. McCabe. Not to mention our teammates.”
“So why are you here?” asked Anita. “To be one of us or to spy on us?”
“I—”
Anita angrily stood. “To hell with it. Tell them whatever you want, I’m going to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow and all.”
Vanguard: Seasons 1-3: A Superhero Adventure Page 19
