“All right.” Devin couldn’t think of anything else to say, anything else to do. This was a strange turn of events. He got in the car and squinted, his eyes seeing their first glimpse of the outdoors in more than six weeks.
“Hello?” Dr. Stanton picked up his phone as he got in the elevator.
“Is it done?” Mr. Ena sounded impatient, perturbed.
“The subject has been released, yes,” Dr. Stanton said.
“And you think this is the best course of action?”
“We may need him in the future,” Dr. Stanton said. “The brain wave scans have been promising—”
“Don’t tell me about the science,” Mr. Ena said, “I don’t give a shit about it. Is the kid going to be a problem?”
“He’ll be fine. It’s a generous offer.”
“And if he doesn’t like the money?” Mr. Ena’s tone made it sound like anyone who didn’t was an idiot, a threat to the natural order.
“Everyone likes money,” Dr. Stanton said. He loosened his tie in the elevator, wondered if the words were too crass. What the hell had happened to him?
“Spoken like a true capitalist.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. The elevator dinged, and Dr. Stanton stepped out, began walking back to his lab. “And Mark?”
“Yes?”
“This blows up on us, it turns bad, you know who’s gonna go down for it, right?”
Mark Stanton swallowed hard and then said, “Me.”
“Keep me posted.”
Mark went into his office and exhaled. His fingers flitted over the touchscreen as he tapped in a message, hit send.
The Dreamer’s safe. A deal’s a deal.
Catalina Ena texted him back.
It had better stay that way.
Stanton winced. It would stay that way; at least for now.
The entire family, father and daughter, was going to have his balls if this Devin kid did something stupid.
31 | Penthouse
The entire top floor.
That was the size of Devin’s hotel room, larger than the house he’d grown up in.
He looked out at the orange horizon, sun beginning to set. The entire room was ensconced in glass—just one seamless window that overlooked the Arizona desert.
Someone knocked at the door, and Devin jumped. He opened it a crack, but didn’t unhook the chain.
“Sir?”
“Yeah?” Devin said.
“Would you like to order something from the menu? Your driver said you might like something.”
Devin unlatched the chain and swung the door open.
An older, slender man in a tuxedo stood there, ramrod straight, holding a pad out with aristocratic flair.
“What do you have?”
“A chicken cordon bleu with sautéed asparagus in lemon-butter sauce, a New York Strip, cooked to your liking, with a side of truffle-infused Yukon Gold mashed potatoes, topped in garlic butter seasoning…”
This went on for a while, the waiter never missing a beat, never even pausing to gather his thoughts. He finished, and the hall was silent. Neither of them moved.
“You got a cheeseburger and fries or something,” Devin said to break the silence. “And a Miller Lite?”
He expected the tuxedoed man to be aghast at his request, but instead the waiter cracked a smile.
“A man after my own heart,” he said. “We can arrange for that. Anything else?”
“Make it two.”
“Two cheeseburgers and fries,” the waiter said, not writing it down, “I’ll return in about half an hour.”
“Sounds good,” Devin said. “Do I have to pay for this? I don’t have any cash on me, but I have a check that needs to be cashed—”
The waiter waved him off.
“It’s all been taken care of,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks,” Devin said, and closed the door.
Some place this was.
Maybe he’d accept Dr. Stanton’s offer. Getting poked a couple times was worth living like this.
The waiter trotted down the stairs, avoiding the security cameras. He opened the fire door at the bottom and slipped the picture through the cracks.
“That’s the kid,” he said. “He’s in the room upstairs. Penthouse suite.”
An envelope full of bills came in through the cracked door.
“There’s your payment,” the man on the outside said, “thanks for the information.”
“He isn’t in any trouble, is he?”
“No trouble. Just a long lost friend.” And then the man was gone.
The waiter hurried back up the stairs, skirting the cameras again, and crossed the lobby. They just wanted information. That was it. Nothing bad was going to happen to this kid. He tried to repeat this to himself, over and over, but his mind wasn’t fooled.
This kid, whoever he was, people thought he was important.
The waiter fingered the stack of bills in his pocket.
Passed by a girl with electric green eyes and blonde hair in the lobby. Pretty. Twenty years back, he’d make a move. But now…
The waiter went into the kitchen and entered the kid’s order.
Nothing bad would happen to him.
And if something did, it would’ve happened anyway.
32 | The Girl
Anya had broken into Chimera’s network—a day before Devin was going to be released. Six weeks of futility, trying everything she knew and everything she didn’t.
Slipping, but these guys had military-grade encryption firewalls.
Read the internal memo, indicating that Devin—always called the subject, or the Dreamer—was going to be staying at a nearby hotel, and would be a “valued partner” on the endeavor going forward. An hour later, Anya had hacked into US Airways’ servers, booked herself a ticket, slipped out of Miss Ena’s new house and was on her way back to Arizona.
And now she was in the lobby of the Export Hotel, looking at the desk clerk.
“Devin Travis,” she said. “He’s staying here.”
“I’m sorry,” the desk clerk said. “We have no record of a guest by that name.”
“Maybe it’s the wrong hotel,” Anya said. “I’ll check my email.”
She popped open her laptop, right on the check-in counter, and started typing. The Export Hotel’s guest-list flashed up on screen. Anya scanned it, then closed the lid.
“I’m sorry,” Anya said. “My friend’s staying at the Import.”
“But there is no Import—”
Anya walked away, ignoring him. Went to the elevator and pressed the top button.
“Keycard required,” a smooth female voice said through the elevator’s speakers, “please swipe now.”
Anya sighed and unpacked her laptop.
A minute later, she was on the top floor, staring at a short hallway that led to the penthouse suite.
She walked forward. What was this feeling in her chest? She’d just hacked the Export’s systems twice in five minutes. Even if they needed to stop all incoming cloned IP requests from unknown parties.
If she could do that, she could do this.
She got to the door and froze.
This was stupid. He wouldn’t remember her. And he thought she was weird. Anya looked up and down the hall. And he was staying at the Export—without hacking into anything. Devin would be different now.
Maybe it’d be better to—
Anya turned to go, but she dropped her laptop, the glossy case just slipping out of her clammy fingers. The computer hit the hardwood with a banging echo. Anya dropped to the floor, trying to stop the noise.
But it was a little late.
The door cracked open, and an eye looked out to see what the hell was going on.
Anya wished she could disappear, and huddled into a ball, like an armadillo in the middle of the road. Hopeless and exposed, but an unavoidable instinct.
The door unlatched.
“Holy shit,” Devin said. “Anya Syl
vi.”
She pried open one eye and turned her head.
He was smiling.
That was a good sign, right?
33 | Unwelcome Guests
Boyd wicked the sweat from his forehead as he reentered the rental car.
“I told you this was the car,” he said. “Devin Travis is on the top floor.”
Him, Tommy and Samuel had been camped out near Chimera’s headquarters, following all the Town Cars that left the premises.
Ever since Catalina Ena had been a dead end, a ghost—no trace, anywhere—the pair had spent the last two weeks watching Chimera’s headquarters from a half-mile away, spying through a sniper’s scope.
Following all of the cars had been pointless. But persistence had paid off. Just as Samuel always preached.
“Steady yourself, son,” Samuel said. “We’ve found him before.”
“I remember, Samuel,” Boyd said. In his mind, he screamed at himself for his foolishness and sloppiness at the general store. But on the outside, he tried to be cool. “But we’re closer this time.”
“Which means the stakes are raised.”
Boyd nodded. He looked about the parking lot, at all the luxury cars and ostentatious displays of wealth. People bedecked in glittering diamonds and thousand dollar shoes.
This was the plague that the Prophet would cure. He would guide humanity to the truth, to all of its miracles and none of its sins.
Boyd spun the cylinder in his .38 Smith and Wesson, then snapped it in with a shake of his hand. From the corner of his eye, he could see Samuel shake his head.
“Sorry, Samuel,” he said. “Bad habit.” Boyd bowed his head. He was just as corrupt as all these people outside, milling the lot, concerned with flash over form, appearances over goodness. That was why he had failed before.
“Just concentrate,” Samuel said. The Reverend checked his own revolver, waited for the parking lot to clear, and then got out of the car. “You did take care of those men, did you not? The ones keeping an eye on our prophet?”
“Yeah, me and Tommy got the three guys. They’re not gonna be a problem.”
Tommy opened the door a crack, and Samuel waved him off. “Stay here.”
“He’s my brother,” Tommy said.
“That’s why you should stay here. Emotions cloud judgment.” Tommy’s door shut.
And then the Reverend walked towards the Export without another word.
Boyd followed him inside.
The two of them strolled up to the front desk. No one was in the lobby, save for the clerk manning the lengthy check-in counter.
“How can I help you today, gentleman? Do you have a reservation?”
“I do not,” the Reverend said, “but I do need a room.”
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re booked months in advance. If you’d just write your name and number on this pad here, we’ll let you know if there are any cancellations.” The clerk pushed a legal pad filled with people’s contact information towards the Reverend.
The Reverend pushed it back.
“I don’t know if that’s true, son.”
“Excuse me?” People didn’t come in here and say things like that in the Export. “You’re saying I’m a liar?”
“I’m saying we’re all mistaken, time to time.” The Reverend smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile, or an unkind one. Just a smile, one that meant nothing at all.
“I assure you, sir—”
“A friend of mine just checked in earlier today. No reservation. And I believe he got your very best room.” The Reverend brought his revolver out and laid it on the counter. “So, you see, I think you’d best stop lying to me, boy.”
The desk clerk swallowed hard, and his voice came out thin, reedy, with none of the previous haughty elitism, as he said, “I’ll check the system, sir, see if there are any openings.” He did a double-take at the pistol, then started tapping at the computer.
“I don’t think you heard the good Reverend,” Boyd said. He planted his hands on the countertop and vaulted over, smooth, deliberate, like he’d practice the move a hundred times, could do it a thousand more, just the same way. “Perhaps you should listen better.”
“You don’t want a room?”
“What we want, you greedy son-of-a-bitch, is the key to this kid’s room.” Boyd shoved a hand in his jeans, extracted the photo of Devin and Tommy. Pointed at Devin.
“I don’t know him—”
“Don’t be no hero, man,” Boyd said, and took out his revolver now, “you know what happens to heroes, right?”
“No.”
“They all get dead.”
Boyd could see the clerk’s leg shaking. A wet stain forming on his pants. He shoved the clerk into the counter, and the man let loose a low whine.
“You nasty bastard,” Boyd said. “What kind of man pisses himself?”
“Boyd,” the Reverend said. Boyd nudged the clerk with his pistol again in the small of the back. “Boyd.”
Boyd glanced up, like he was snapping out of a trance. “Get excited sometimes.”
“Son, look at me. Everything’s going to be all right, you just give us the key,” Samuel said.
“What’s it gonna be, hero?” Boyd said, and gave the clerk another poke with his pistol. “Things gonna get real messy, we stick around much longer.”
The desk clerk gulped and tapped on the computer. Reached into a drawer.
“Easy does it there,” Boyd said.
“This is where we keep the blank keys,” the clerk managed to get out in halting stutters, “I just have to program it to open the penthouse.” He picked up a keycard with trembling fingers and swiped it through the reader. It flashed green.
Boyd plucked it from the clerk’s hand.
“That ain’t so hard.” He cocked the hammer back on the revolver and placed it up against the clerk’s head.
“Boyd,” Samuel said.
“He’s seen us.”
“The Lord tests the righteous, but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.”
The Psalm washed over Boyd like a basin of cold water. He uncocked the pistol. Then he brought the handle down on the clerk’s head with a thunderous crash.
Head lowered, he glided over the counter, whispering his penance as the two men walked towards the elevator.
“Will God forgive me?”
“God forgives everyone who tries to do good, son,” the Reverend said, and then swiped the card when the elevator requested it. “That’s all a man can do, is try.”
Boyd said nothing.
He wasn’t sure, but he had to believe.
That was what faith was.
34 | Interruption
Devin didn’t ask Anya how she’d found him. That much was obvious.
But he had asked Anya if she’d known what Miss Ena’s plan had been—to hand him over to Chimera as a human guinea pig.
Anya’s face had fallen when he’d explained what had happened. She’d said sorry. He said that she couldn’t have known, no way. And that Miss Ena wasn’t bad, anyway—look at him now.
And he’d offered her a drink from the mini-bar, and she’d accepted, and now everything was normal.
Kind of.
“Are you going to accept?”
“I don’t know,” Devin said. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“It’s five million dollars.”
Devin put down his beer and looked over her. “You’re getting better at this.”
“Getting better at what?”
“I don’t know. Calling people on bullshit.” He winked and got up to stretch, look at the window. Contemplate life, the question at hand. “Truth is, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
“That’s it,” he said. “It’s a lot of money. If you read the contract—”
“I read it on the plane. It was in the memo.”
“Right. Of course.” He should never underestimate this chick. Or keep anything on his computer that he didn’t w
ant her to find out. Cheating on her would be damn near impossible. He grinned at the thought, him and Anya.
“It looked fair,” she said.
“What, you’re a lawyer now, too?”
“I read a lot,” Anya said.
“I guess staying indoors a lot for twenty years…”
“Yes.” She got up and joined him at the window.
“It’s a fair deal, I know that. It’s just that, that type of money, that type of arrangement, it comes with strings. You don’t get to walk away. You don’t get to quit.”
“I don’t think you get to quit either way,” Anya said.
Devin turned to examine her face. That was true. There was no walking away from everything. Even if he said no, Chimera might not accept. And there were always the other people looking for him. The Lionhearted.
“It’s not much of a choice,” he said.
“No.”
He got closer to her, and she didn’t move away. Close enough that he could feel the heat from her body, smell the light scent of peach in her wavy chestnut hair, see a tiny scar above her right eyebrow.
“What’s this from,” he said, and without thinking, reached up and rubbed it with his thumb. She tensed for a moment, then her body went slack, like she enjoyed it.
“It’s from, uh, I was running in the house, because I couldn’t outside.” Anya stopped, her white cheeks flushing red. Dropped her head, so that Devin’s thumb was now in her hair. He ran his fingers through it, and then she kept going. “And she tried to pick me up, to get me to stop, and I tried to get away, and I ran into the door jamb.”
“That sucks,” Devin said, and brought his head closer.
“It hurt,” she said. She raised her head up and looked him in the eye.
He looked back.
They kissed, and everything for one moment, just one moment, felt like it was going to okay.
Then someone knocked at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Devin said and smiled, “I ordered something before I knew you were getting here.”
He jogged over and unlatched the door, opened it without a second thought.
Two men stood in the doorway, hands folded over their belts.
“Hello,” the older one said, and extended a hand. “You must be Devin Travis. It’s an honor to meet you.”
The Last Dreamer Page 10
