by R S Penney
The little man stepped past him, hunching over with a sigh. “You think I'm upset about the room?” he screamed. “My staff were traumatized! My guests could have been killed, for God's sake!”
Jack didn't argue with him.
The lot next to the motel was an open field where a transport shuttle sat with its port-side airlock open. It was a sleek little craft with thin wings that curved toward the nose, decked out with the insignias of the Leyrian space fleet.
Ben stood next to the airlock with a hand pressed to his stomach, shaking his head in obvious pain. “You think I'd get used to the scrapes and bruises,” he said. “Though I never thought I'd be able to say I crawled through broken glass.”
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
Jack was half tempted to apologize for putting his friend in danger, but even he saw the arrogance in that. Unlike the motel staff, Ben had chosen a high-risk career. He knew perfectly well that each mission brought with it the potential for serious injury or death. Hell, this wasn't even Jack's plan.
It was Agent Valtez who had proposed that they try to entrap the terrorist by selling him Amps. Jack hadn't even selected the location. The only thing he had been responsible for was convincing Mr. Watz to let them go through with this. “I'm sorry you got hurt,” he said. “It sucks, I know.”
Ben shut his eyes, then used a fist to rub his forehead. “Meh… It's not the worst thing I've ever experienced,” he muttered. “A few sutures in the belly, and now I'm good as new.”
“Good.”
“So what happens next?”
Tilting his head back, Jack squinted up at the heavens. “I'm not sure,” he said with a touch of exasperation in his voice. “We found the bomber's address. I'm thinking I'll have a look around the place.”
Ben's mouth twisted in a grimace, and he shook his head. “Then I'll go with you,” he said. “Just give me a few minutes to finish recharging my supplies, and then we can be on our way.
“No.”
“Bleakness take me! Why not?”
Crossing his arms with a loud sigh, Jack backed away from the other man. “Oh, I don't know…” he said. “Could it be the stitches in your belly? Give yourself some time to heal, for God's sake.”
“And the real reason?”
“I want to see the place with my own eyes,” Jack admitted. “Look, with the RCMP stonewalling us at every turn and the fact that we have doubts about the people we work for, it only makes sense to do this myself. Sooner or later, some forensics team – ours or theirs – is going to get a crack at the place, and when that happens, anything they learn will be buried under a mountain of red tape.”
“So, this has nothing to do with Jack Hunter's lone wolf complex?”
Damn it!
Spend enough time with someone, and he or she would eventually become acutely aware of your bad habits. Yes, Jack had a tendency to take matters into his own hands; in his experience, the only way to make sure something got done right was to do it yourself. “All right, fine. You can come,” he grumbled. “But I want you to stay in the car.”
“Okay,” Ben relented. “The car it is.”
Chapter 21
Jack sent Jena an e-mail detailing his plan to inspect the bomber's residence and received her blessing to have a look around before the forensics team arrived. One thing he and his boss shared was a general distrust for authority. It was hard to be certain that they would get useful information if they didn't look themselves.
After that, it was a quick drive to Nepean with Ben in his front seat. The man let out the occasional grunt of frustration, no doubt complaining when something jostled his stitches. Jack had to stifle his irritation; he should have insisted that his friend stay out of this one.
The small townhouse complex where the bomber had lived consisted of over two dozen homes on three sides of a central parking lot. Narrow houses were packed together without an inch of space between them.
Lifting his chin, Jack squinted through the windshield. “Too damn cheery,” he said, shaking his head. “This is the kind of neighbourhood I grew up in. What's a middle-class kid doing working with terrorists.”
Ben frowned, then lowered his eyes to gaze into his lap. “Perhaps he's sick of being middle-class,” he offered. “If I understand your system correctly, social mobility is hard to achieve. Perhaps he wants to make a statement.”
“I'm going in.”
Ben unbuckled his belt.
Jack glanced over his shoulder, grunting his displeasure. “Stay here,” he said. “You're wounded, and I'd rather make sure it's safe before I get you involved.”
He got out of the car.
The bomber, one Paul O'Sullivan, had lived in the twelfth unit. A two-story home with curtains in all of its windows, it was virtually indistinguishable from its neighbours. There were no cars in the driveway, no chairs on the small front lawn.
As he stepped onto the porch, Jack found himself face to face with a large white door. He knocked and waited for a response. The words that he would speak should one of Paul's unsuspecting parents greet him rolled through his mind. He'd been perfecting that speech on the drive over here. Attempting to perfect it, anyway.
The sad fact was he had never been in a situation where he had to tell some poor man or woman that his or her son was dead. Worse yet, how exactly should he go about explaining that Paul had been the cause of his own demise, that he had tried to take two other people with him?
No answer came, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that was short-lived when he realized that he had crossed paths with yet another moral gray area that made this job so difficult. Did he enter the house without permission?
He didn't have a warrant, but the fact that Paul had set off a bomb in a motel gave him reasonable and probable grounds to believe there might be evidence in the kid's house. And that such evidence would be vital to preventing further attacks. Ordinarily, he would fill out the paperwork and go through the motions, but with the government stonewalling him, it was better to take matters into his own hands.
Doing so, however, might be seen as an attempt to circumvent the system… because that's what it was. He sighed.
Lifting his forearm, Jack tapped away at his multi-tool and brought up a menu on the touchscreen. He told the device to scan the lock and fabricate a key.
Pointing his fist at the deadbolt, he watched blue lasers spray from the multi-tool's metal disk, sweeping back and forth over the lock. Moments later, the speaker let out a little chirp of triumph.
Tiny nanobots emerged from the metal disk, configuring themselves into the shape of a key. Last chance to turn back, Hunter, he noted. You know there's gonna be a media frenzy when the public finds out that a Justice Keeper can just let himself into your house any time he pleases.
He detached the metal disk from his gauntlet, slid the key into the lock and gave a twist. The door popped open with little difficulty, revealing a living room where a couch faced a fireplace on the wall to his right.
Stairs to his left led to the second floor, and doors along the back wall led to the kitchen. A cursory scan with his spatial awareness revealed nothing dangerous. “Hello?” he called out. “Mr. and Ms. O'Sullivan?”
No answer.
Sunlight through the window adjacent to the door illuminated a stack of magazines on the coffee table. A small ashtray held the remains of a cigarette, and there were pictures on the mantle.
Jack closed his eyes, ignoring his chagrin. Walking into somebody else's house felt weird even with a badge. “I'm Agent Jack Hunter with the Justice Keepers,” he said, stepping into the living room. “I'd like to talk about your son Paul.”
He moved carefully toward the couch. With afternoon fading to evening, it was likely that they hadn't yet returned from work. So that left him with a dilemma. Did he begin an official search, or wait-
“I don't think they're coming.”
His spatial awareness projected the silhouette of a man on the
stairs just before the voice made him jump. By the shape of it, he could already tell who had decided to sneak up on him.
He turned.
Leo stood on the small landing in black pants and a matching sweatshirt, his arms folded as he regarded Jack. “You're just so predictable,” he said, descending the steps. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you identified dear Paul, and then you'd come right here. It had to be you, of course. You're the type of guy who just refuses to delegate anything!”
Cheeks on fire, Jack shook his head. “You think you know me, huh?” he asked, approaching the man. “Well, coming here was your biggest mistake. Because the only way you're leaving is in handcuffs.”
“Big words.”
“What'd you do with the family?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Leo's mouth, and he bowed his head. “Oh, they're here and there,” he teased. “The sad part is, if you'd gotten here a little bit sooner, that statement might not be so literal.”
Rage flared up, threatening to burst from his chest like a baby alien, but he stifled it with some effort. It seemed Leo had him pegged. The man had somehow deduced Jack's Atlas complex and was now using it against him.
Leo hopped off the last step.
He stood at the foot of the stairs, right next to the front door, clearly blocking the only means of escape. “It's funny,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I could expect more from the great Justice Keepers. You should have been here hours ago.”
Thrusting his chin out, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Very clever,” he said with a nod. “So it seems that you can do more than just flail about in your impotent rage and scream obscenities at me.”
“Psych warfare not working, huh?”
“Not as such, no.”
Jack drew aside his coat to reach for his pistol, pulling it free of the holster in one quick motion. “Stun rounds!” he ordered, listening for a beep of confirmation before he took aim.
A wall of flickering energy appeared just before Jack fired, intercepting the bullets and causing them to bounce uselessly to the floor. Behind it, Leo stood tall and confident with a self-satisfied smile.
He thrust a hand out.
The force-field sped across the room.
Jack tried to dodge, but it hit him at full speed, sending him soaring backward. The pistol fell out of his hand just before he collided with the wall. He landed hard on his feet, feeling numb from the jolt.
With a little willpower, he started across the room.
Leo stood by the door with a grin that could put most imps to shame, shaking his head. “That was funny,” he said, moving forward with cold confidence. He drew back his arm and threw a punch.
Leaning back, Jack reached up to seize the man's wrist with both hands. He snap-kicked, driving a foot into Leo's chest. The other man pulled free of his grip, staggering backward with a wheeze.
Leo bared his teeth like a hissing cat, his face turning several shades of scarlet. With a growl, he doubled over and charged like a bull.
Jack leaped.
He somersaulted through the air, passing right over Leo, then uncurled to land just behind him. Spatial awareness allowed him to perceive his opponent with perfect clarity. The man was already turning.
Jack bent over and kicked out behind himself.
Something grabbed his ankle before he could make contact. “Nice try,” Leo's voice purred, and the next thing Jack knew, he was being flipped over onto his back. Landing hard on his ass, he found the other man standing over him.
Jack curled his legs against his chest. He kicked out with both feet to strike Leo's chest, sending him careening right into the fireplace.
Ignoring his fear, Jack got to his feet.
Leo drew a knife from his belt, holding the blade pointed downward. His face was contorted into a hateful snarl. “Keepers…They're all the same,” he said, moving forward at a brisk pace. “All arrogant fools.”
Leo slashed at his eyes.
Jack ducked and felt the blade pass over his head. He threw a jab into Leo's belly, then slipped past him on the right. He flung his elbow into the back of Leo's skull. That should have knocked him senseless, but despite the satisfying crunch, this fight wasn't over yet.
Leo jumped and back-flipped through the air, passing right over Jack's head. The man dropped to the floor in front of him, cutting off every avenue of escape. He brought the knife up for one clean cut.
The blade tore a gash in Jack's ribcage, sending droplets of blood into the air. Leo reversed his thrust, then tried to jam the knife into Jack's throat.
Leaning back, Jack grabbed the man's forearm with both hands. Physical contact was necessary for a Bending, but once that was done, Jack was able to warp the fabric of space-time around Leo's body.
Leo went flying backward several times faster than he would have had he jumped from a building. He collided with the brick wall next to the fireplace with enough force to send chunks falling.
Landing on all fours, he let his head hang, his blonde hair soaked with sweat. “You are so predictable,” he whispered. “Did it ever occur to you that this fight was meant to tire you out? Multi-tool active! Program One!”
A soft humming noise drew Jack's attention to the kitchen door where he found a Death Sphere floating through the opening. The device rotated in midair, fixing its lens upon him.
Jack stood.
He turned and leaped, crossing his arms in front of his face. The window shattered as he crashed through it, glass flying off in all directions. He dropped to a crouch on the front lawn, then threw himself onto his belly.
Half a second later, an orange particle beam cut the air above him, streaking off to strike a lamppost and slice it in half. The surge of heat above his back was something he could feel through his coat.
Jack got up.
Keeping low, he scurried through the grass toward the car. A sharp pain in his side made him drop to his knees. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Come on, Jack! Your life literally depends on this!”
He twisted around.
The Death Sphere floated through the open window, reorienting itself to point the lens at him. A sharp whine filled the air as it charged its capacitors.
Jack raised both hands up in front of his face, calling on Summer's aid. With her assistance, he crafted a Bending and watched the light twist until the house was a blurry whirlpool of colour.
An orange particle beam struck the patch of warped space-time and curved like a wet noodle. It struck the ground to his left, digging a hole through the gravelly driveway. A Bending would protect him from direct exposure to high-energy particles but heat was another matter.
Just a few seconds was all it took to heat the air to the point where his palms began to sting unbearably. It felt like he'd been forced to grab a pot full of boiling water without oven mitts. Jack screamed his anguish.
He let the Bending drop.
Holding it would not have been an option; his skin was already tingling from the strain he'd put on Summer, and the pain made it too difficult to concentrate. The Death Sphere charged its capacitors again.
Jack tried to Bend space-time, but he may as well have been trying to change the course of a river by blowing on it. Nothing happened. Exhaustion crept over him, and he was ready to let go. Thank you for everything, Summer.
Something struck the sphere, causing blue sparks to flash over its surface. It fell to the ground, rolling through the grass before settling to a stop just a few feet away. What? What's going on?
Before he could think, Ben was running past him, dropping to one knee in front of Jack as though he intended to be a shield against the explosion that would soon follow. The man unclipped both force-field generators from his belt.
Ben raised them, one in each hand. “Twice in one day,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I'm gonna blow out the emitters.”
Two screens of white static appeared in front of him, slightly curved to provide a barricade for the both of them. A flash of light w
as accompanied by what sounded like a very distant pop, and chunks of shrapnel bounced off the force-fields.
I'm alive, Jack noted.
His palms were on fire. The pain was so intense, he could barely think. We have to get out of here, a small voice whispered. If we stay, he'll tear us apart. I can't fight in this condition.
As the smoke cleared, he saw Leo standing in the window. The man was scowling, shaking his head. “A pity,” he said. “If not for the intervention of this little sewer rat, I'd have had you.”
He turned and ran, disappearing into the depths of the house. No doubt the bastard had some kind of escape plan. Hell, with the strength Amps gave him, climbing the fence in the backyard would be easy.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 22
Jack's living room window looked out on an overcast sky that loomed menacingly over the buildings across the street, threatening rain but never delivering. It had been like that for several days now. Constant gloom.
The transparent image of Anna sat on his couch with her hands folded in her lap, projected by the disk of his multi-tool that sat on the nearby armrest. “So tell me about this date with Marie.”
Grinning into his own lap, Jack shook his head. “You know, you don't have to call me every day,” he said, sinking into the couch cushions. “I appreciate the company, but it must be a hassle.”
She studied him for a moment, squinting in confusion. “Of course I have to call you,” she said. “You think I'm gonna let you recover from burned hands without at least providing you with some conversation?”
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he took a deep breath. “Well, there goes my subtle plan to change the subject,” Jack muttered. “We went to a club, Marie made a pass at me, I declined and now she won't call me back.”
“Rough.”
“Yeah.”
The hologram flickered briefly, dissolving into static before reforming once again. Anna stared at the wall with a puzzled expression. Well, it appeared that way. In reality, she was staring at something in her own apartment. “Well, it sounds to me like she must have really liked you.”
