Time and Chance

by Jeff Mariotte

  Cipher became intangible. The weapons fire found other targets. Explosions and carnage rocked the pier and a section of planking twenty feet across crumpled and fell into the water.

  All of this had been anticipated, of course. Wager had predicted the exact moves of his opponents with ninety-eight percent accuracy.

  A stealth chopper swept in from over the roof of a manufacturing plant several thousand feet away.

  "The other two percent," Wager said, amused. "Cipher, that looks like a pretty toy. I want it. Intact."

  Cipher nodded. He looked to the bald crimelord. "Do you accept Wager's terms?"

  The bald man shrieked a defiant command into his lapel. "Alpha! Alpha nine nine—"

  Jay shot him.

  The bald man sank back, his body relaxing in death. Cipher stared at his partner. He hadn't been prepared for this.

  Yes, he had allowed the other four guards to kill one another, and he had hurt many people, but he hadn't considered how easily, how casually, this could lead to murder.

  He also wondered what the hell was going on? Wager had given him the order to bring the chopper in…

  Jay knelt beside the dead man and spoke two simple words into the bald man's lapel microphone. "Land it."

  The chopper swept in closer, men stationed with high tech weapons out of its left flank. Jay turned his gun on the next crimelord.

  The man blanched and grabbed his lapel. "Land it!"

  The chopper circled once, then came in for a landing on the pier. It hovered slightly above the fragile wood planking. Cipher stared at the chopper. It was a beautiful machine.

  "The pilot stays," Jay said. "Everyone else comes out, unarmed."

  The crimelord repeated Jay's commands. The gunners and the co-pilot emerged from the sleek black chopper.

  Jay hauled the wounded crimelord to his feet. The man moaned and clutched at his stomach, where shrapnel had struck him.

  "Get the other one," Jay said.

  Cipher grabbed the remaining crimelord. This guy was smaller than the one who'd been killed, with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail. His wounds weren't nearly as grievous as those of his associate.

  Wager had fallen silent. At least to Cipher. Was he commanding Jay's actions?

  They boarded the stealth chopper and were out of the area long before the authorities arrived. The chopper cruised over the waters, the surviving crimelords whimpering and clutching at themselves in pain.

  Jay smiled and leaned in close to them. "Do you accept Wager as your personal savior?"

  Both men acceded without any further encouragement. "Your friend's holdings, personal and business, legitimate and illegitimate, will be divided between you two. Any further discord and you die, your families die, everyone dies. Understood?"

  The crimelords bowed their heads.

  Three hours later, after two more "meetings," Cipher stood with Jay on the roof of one of Wager's new holdings.

  Cipher wanted to ask Jay what had happened on the pier. But Wager had been talking in his ear ever since that incident, and hadn't sounded even mildly put out. So what right did he have to question?

  The building was fifteen stories high. It housed the corporate offices of nearly sixty businesses, all subtly entwined, all formerly under the control of Luis Pendarro. That man was now a figurehead, and a grateful one, at that. At least he still had his life. News of the death at the pier had spread and was making their job much easier.

  "It's beautiful up here, isn't it?" Jay asked.

  Cipher felt the wind sweep across him. It carried a chill.

  "I loved that ride in the stealth CPT-2099," Jay said. 'There's nothing like flying if you really want to feel a sense of freedom. Of being in control. Your own man."

  A soft breathing sounded in Cipher's ears.

  Wager.

  The breaths were short and hard. Cipher could almost feel the man's anger.

  He waited.

  "Throw him from the roof," Wager commanded.

  Cipher felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. He didn't move.

  "You heard me," Wager said. "Do it."

  A shudder passed through Cipher—and for a moment, he wasn't Cipher at all. He was Joe Monteleone. He was a man with free will, capable of making decisions, a human being with a past and a future.

  And he was not a killer.

  "I own you," Wager said. "That was our deal. I wished to own another human being, and you accepted those terms. That means you will do anything I say. Even take your own life if I so command it. If I'm forced to clarify this even one more time, or if I must repeat an order again, I will consider our contract null and void, and there will be consequences for all involved."

  Joe Monteleone closed his eyes. For all involved.

  His wife. His son and daughter…

  Jay was still speaking when Cipher grabbed him. He screamed as he was thrown from the roof.

  Cipher heard him screaming for several seconds more. Then the wind swallowed up his screams.

  "This is not an organization in which initiative is rewarded," Wager said.

  The lone man who stood on the roof, struggling to convince himself that he was Cipher, and only Cipher, grimly nodded.

  The cab screeched to a stop behind a pack of stopped vehicles.

  "Mother of God, did you see that?" the driver hollered.

  Bobby and Sarah were in the backseat. They had been so intent on one another that they hadn't been aware of anything else.

  "What?" Bobby asked.

  "A guy just hit the sidewalk. Must of jumped out of a window or something." The driver was grizzled and overweight. He stank of sweat and cigarettes. His eyes were wide. "He just, like, exploded. Jeez, I mean, I think I saw his jaw go through the window across the street!"

  Bobby and Sarah looked at each other.

  " 'Course, in this town, it kinda makes you wonder if he fell or if he was pushed," the driver said. "Especially with everything that's been happening today. Friend of mine said some weird lookin' guy, body builder or something, came outta nowhere in his undies and just picked up his cab, shook him and his ride loose, and tossed the cab clean through the lobby of this hotel. Then there's all that gang stuff, the mobs, high tech weirdos flying around, I dun… it really makes ya think, like, maybe Jersey's not so bad, y'know, retire, get a little place in Somerville or whatnot. Y'see what I mean."

  "Maybe," Bobby said. He paid the man and got out, Sarah quickly following.

  Bobby motioned to an alley. "We can hide our clothes there."

  Sarah put her hand on his chest. "No time. I'll go."

  "But—"

  She spread her arms and a sudden wind carried her up. She sailed gracefully upward.

  His eyes narrowing, Bobby balled his hands into fists and burst into flames. The fires carried him upward while they burned his clothing to cinders.

  Speeding around Sarah, he streaked over the rooftops before her. There was no sign of a struggle anywhere, and no one standing around suspiciously.

  He flew onward, Sarah calling to him and racing to catch up. Finally, he landed in a playground several neighborhoods away.

  Fires were still crackling all along his body when Sarah touched down beside him.

  "What was that?" she asked.

  Bobby looked away sullenly.

  "I'm serious," she said. "What was that?"

  "I don't understand you," he said. He wouldn't look at her.

  "You don't understand me," she snapped.

  He nodded.

  "We both had the same idea, didn't we?" Sarah asked. "Maybe that guy didn't jump, maybe he was pushed, let's check it out before whoever did it could get away?"

  "Yeah."

  She came around in front of him, gesturing at her clothing. "I said I'd go first because I didn't have to duck into an alley, take my street clothes off, and hide them, before I could go up. That was it. That was all."

  "Just wanted to save time," Bobby said. He looked down at his battlesuit. It was
made to withstand the fires he controlled.

  "Yes, so if anyone was up there, they wouldn't have time to get away." She frowned. "And so we wouldn't have to risk having our clothing and valuables stolen when we left them behind. Of course, you figured out a way around that, didn't you?"

  He had toasted not only his clothes, but his wallet as well. It had been a dumb, impulsive move and he wasn't sure why he'd done it.

  No, that wasn't exactly true…

  "You want everything both ways," Bobby said.

  Sarah arched a single eyebrow. "Exactly what are we talking about?"

  Bobby's shoulders slumped. The bi-thing. She thought he was bringing that up again. "What I mean is, one minute you want one thing, the next, you want something else."

  "Oh. That's helpful. That clears up everything."

  Some kids walked by and pointed at Bobby through the fence. Even in New York, he looked a little out of place in his costume.

  Sarah took off her ankle length jacket and handed it to him. "I'm not even going to ask if you thought to toss your wallet before flaming on."

  Bobby took the jacket and slipped it on. "Thanks."

  "You want to thank me, give me an explanation."

  He hesitated, then, "I keep trying to be what you want. But you keep changing what that is."

  Her beautiful face revealed no hint of emotion. "Go on."

  "I thought you wanted me to be involved with social causes, like you. So I started volunteering at the shelter."

  She said nothing.

  "You know what it was for me? I'll tell you. A pain in the butt. And that was it. At first, anyway. But then I met Mr. Joe and things changed…"

  "I see that."

  "And now, today. I start acting more like my dad, I start getting take charge and all, and you're all over me. So, I'm figuring, yeah, that's what she wants."

  Sarah didn't even blink. "This is quite a dilemma. For you, I mean."

  "Then we get out of the cab, and I'm saying what we're gonna do, and you just blow me off and do whatever the hell you want to do. I just don't get it. One minute I'm thinking you want me to really be the guy in our relationship, the next, you're acting like nothing I say matters."

  Sarah turned her gaze to the street. "So this is all my fault."

  "I just don't know what you want."

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  Bobby was startled. "Well, look, I mean—"

  "What I should say is, I'm sorry you feel that way. I've never meant to be anything but completely forthright with you." She shrugged. "It's just that there's a difference between seeing you rise up to your potential and seeing you act like a dominating ass because you think that's what'll turn me on. It's kind of like the difference between being a guy and being a man. If you need things spelled out for you, then it's pretty clear which of those categories you fit into."

  She started walking. She was all the way to the schoolyard entrance when he finally managed to get his legs moving and head after her.

  Dammit. He had tried, really tried, to tell her how he felt. And he had totally screwed things up.

  He fell in beside her and they walked down a quiet street. Two-story houses sitting practically on top of one another lined the street. A convenience store and a restaurant waited at the corner, near the light.

  "I think we should split up," Sarah said.

  "What?" Bobby said. "Wait—

  "We can cover more ground looking for Mr. Joe that way."

  " Sarah said. She still wasn't looking at him. Her hand dug into her purse. "Do you want cab money?"

  "No."

  They reached the corner. At the opposite light stood a gorgeous young woman in a tight red tank top and tight white slacks. Bobby couldn't help but notice her naturally curly hair, spilling down to the middle of her back, her exotic, dark, Salma Hayek style beauty. She looked like a gypsy queen. Just stunning.

  What was he doing?

  He looked over at Sarah, hoping she hadn't caught him staring at the girl across the street.

  She hadn't.

  Instead, she was looking at her, too. And in the same way…

  It was too much. Bobby was about to grab her arm, to tell her that maybe she was right, maybe they should split up, and not just in their efforts to find Mr. Joe, when the restaurant window behind him suddenly exploded.

  Bobby and Sarah reacted instantly, instinctively. They spun, his flames melting the glass that might have cut them to pieces, her winds containing the terrible force of blast.

  They rushed inside and found a dozen people crawling amidst the wreckage. Employees and patrons. Two people were on their feet, another struggling to rise before them.

  The two who were standing carried weapons that may have started as Uzis, but had been transformed into killing machines with far more power. A man and a woman, both wearing boots, jeans, tight black sweaters, and ski masks. Only their physiques gave away their sexes. The man had a few grenades on his belt. The woman only had one.

  That had been the source of the explosion.

  On their knees before them was a man wearing the same I.O. armor the shooters in the club had worn. His armor had been cracked open and his face revealed. Hard eyes, a deeply lined face, chiseled features that were now raw and bloody.

  The gun-wielders aimed their weapons at Bobby and Sarah.

  Big mistake.

  Bobby leaped at the woman, a fiery trail rushing behind him. He had the gun away from her, a melted slag that had charred her fingers, and had knocked her unconscious before he realized that he'd toasted Sarah's coat. The other gun-wielder slammed against the wall beside him. Bobby could feel the force of the hard air that had smashed into him, driving the air from his lungs, knocking him out practically on contact.

  Bobby fried his gun, too.

  They turned to the merc in the I.O. armor. He was trying to get to his feet, either to run or to make a stand.

  "I don't think so," Sarah said, dropping him with a single kick to the jaw. He crumpled in a heap.

  Bobby nodded. "We're going somewhere we can have a nice little chat…"

  CHAPTER TEN

  The hotel suite really was big. Not the size of the house we gave up back in La Jolla, Caitlin thought, but for a Manhattan penthouse, it's enormous. Everyone had their own room, Mr. Lynch had his own office, and he'd equipped one room to function as a kind of lab space. The maids kept out of that one—pretty much only entered the suite under duress as it was, ever since the incident with Bobby and the hotel towel that wasn't really flame-retardant.

  Caitlin, of course, was the only one who ever went into it, if you didn't count the time that Grunge decided to see how long it would take to toast a slice of raisin bread using the Bunsen burner.

  She was in there now, taking apart a device she'd removed from the helmet of the goon they'd captured. It was clamped into a vice, and she peered down at it through a mounted magnifying glass to see all the detail. It was a marvel of miniaturization.

  There was a tiny lens, almost microscopic, at the end of a fiber-optic cable no bigger around than a piece of fishing line. A thin strand of wire ended in a minutely larger item that had to be the microphone. At the other end of the whole construction was an earpiece the thug wore, but that wasn't what interested Caitlin so she ignored it.

  Whoever's behind these guys, she thought, he's got some money. Good thing Mr. Lynch does, too.

  She removed the set screw that held a narrow metal plate down, and slid the plate off, setting it onto her spotless work surface. Beneath the plate was what she was really looking for. It was so small and nondescript, most people looking at it would have seen only a little gold dowel with a slightly larger, disc-shaped head, shaped much like a pin or a nail.

  Caitlin saw a transmitter.

  Bingo.

  The magnifier wasn't going to be enough for this kind of work, though. Using micro-surgical calipers, she lifted the transmitter from inside the communications unit, tugged the tiny fiber-optic wire f
ree, and clipped it onto a glass slide. Time for some close-up work. She slid the slide into place on a microscope, and glanced at her watch.

  Where is he?

  Not coming, probably, she decided. Don't sweat it. You've got work to do.

  Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

  "C'mon in," Caitlin called. She didn't look up from the microscope's display, which showed on a fourteen-inch monitor positioned next to the 'scope.

  The door opened. "There ya go," Grunge said. "Just like I said."

  "Thank you, Grunge," Samuel Perrine said.

  At the sound of his voice, Caitlin finally glanced away from her work. Given the difficulty they'd had getting through his security, it was a little odd seeing him here, unaccompanied.

  "Hello, Mr. Perrine," she said.

  "Hi, Caitlin," he replied. "And please, just Sam."

  "How's it goin', Kat?" Grunge asked.

  "Fine, Grunge."

  "That thing's really a little TV receiver?"

  "Seems to be."

  "Can you get the Playboy Channel on it?"

  "It's not that kind of receiver, Grunge."

  "Just checkin' y'know, on account of Lynch not lettin' us order it on the regular TV."

  "I figured, Grunge. Although it seems to me that he didn't shut it off until after you'd run the cable bill up by several hundred dollars."

  "How was I to know Pay-Per-View meant you really had to pay?"

  "We're going to be a little busy in here, Grunge."

  "Hey, never let it be said that I can't take a hint." Grunge bowed once, and left the lab, closing the door behind him.

  Caitlin smiled toward Perrine. "I'm glad you came, Sam. I wasn't sure you would."

  He scratched the end of his nose. "When I got your call, I wasn't sure I would either. I had to think about it for a while. But I guess finally I thought about what you guys had said, about weapons I built and sold ending up in the city streets, being used against kids… well, I decided I couldn't just sit back and not try to help."

  "I don't know if this is exactly in your field," she said. "But it sure isn't in mine, and I could use an extra set of eyes."