by Kyle Mills
“Let’s start with the counter, and I’ll think about the statue.”
“Right on,” he said, trudging off to check the progress of a group of men tearing plaster from the ceiling of Xander’s cathedral of an attic.
“Wow. Maybe I should have brought my hard hat.”
Richard turned and saw his wife approaching with his lunch on a tray. “Amazing, isn’t it? In a week, I’ll have a facility that I would have killed for at the Progeria Project. And it all came from a wave of Xander’s hand.”
“His private jets and security and mansions didn’t really make that much of an impression on me,” she said, shaking her head in amazement. “But getting contractors to show up on time and work? That’s power.”
Richard laughed and took the tray, setting it down next to the blueprints.
“You don’t do that very often anymore,” she said.
“What?”
“Laugh.”
“I thought that there wasn’t a lot to laugh about. But now I think maybe I was wrong.”
“Could this really be it?” she said, looking around at the chaos. “Could this attic be where you find a way to help Susie and the other kids?”
“It’s hard not to let yourself start to—”
He cut himself off when one of Xander’s security men strode through the door and motioned to them. “Could you both come with me, please?”
“Where?” Richard said. “I’m a little tied up here, and I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Xander’s orders,” the man said. It was a phrase that was starting to come up as often as “I wouldn’t know,” and it was just as ironclad. People acted as though God spoke directly through the old man and displayed what seemed to be honest confusion when Richard questioned his periodic decrees.
There was no point in fighting it, so Richard followed his wife toward the door. As she passed the guard, he nodded respectfully. “Lunch today, ma’am…that was the best chili I’ve ever had. And I’m from Texas.”
49
Upstate New York
May 18
Richard and Carly had become accustomed to chasing Xander’s limo in one of the many black SUVs used by his protection detail, but now the protocol had changed radically. In addition to the driver and the man in the passenger seat, there were now two machine-gun-toting guards in a third row of seats behind them. Just as obvious was the fact that their motorcade had grown to be nearly a block long.
“I don’t think the president has this kind of security,” Carly said as the lead vehicle blocked an intersection so they could maintain their speed as they passed through.
“There’s no way Mason doesn’t know about Xander. It’s not like he goes out of his way to keep a low profile.”
“He’s stupid and arrogant,” she said, not caring that her criticism would be reported back to the old man—assuming he wasn’t listening already.
Richard squeezed her hand. “We didn’t come to him for subtlety, Carly. Sometimes you just have to reach for the biggest hammer.”
“Maybe. But it’d be nice to have some say over what it hits.”
He sighed quietly. She was right, but it was hard to complain too much. Did Xander have a psychotic compulsion for tempting the gods? Sure. But there was also no denying that his methods had provided them the contents of Mason’s lab, the identities of some of the members of his group, and an impenetrable fortress to live in. Where would they be without the old bastard? Probably dead, with Mason’s assassins hot on Susie’s heels.
“Carly, I think we just have to be gra—”
The flash came first, followed by a wave of sound that seemed to suck the air from his lungs. Richard tried to throw himself protectively over his wife, but was hurled backward when the SUV slammed over a curb.
His head hit the side window hard enough to crack the glass, and he saw the two men behind them stand up through the sun-roof with their guns as he tried to shake off the pain and refocus his vision.
Carly didn’t seem to notice any of it. She just stared blankly through the spider-webbed side window as the SUV accelerated. When his head had cleared enough for him to maintain his balance, he twisted around to see what she was looking at.
Xander’s limo had flipped over in the middle of the street and was spinning slowly on its roof. Flames billowed through it, sending a column of black, oily smoke into the sky as the people inside were engulfed.
“Get down!” he heard someone yell, and he pushed Carly back into the seat. Her body convulsed as she sobbed beneath him, and he gently stroked her hair, concentrating on trying to breathe.
It was over. Xander was dead, and in a few minutes, they probably would be too.
Susie’s last hope was on fire.
50
1,800 Miles East of Australia
May 18
Oleg Nazarov monitored Karl’s expression as he watched the video of Xander’s limousine being destroyed by the explosives planted beneath a manhole cover.
“What about the Dramans?” he said, the tension that had been growing so visibly in him subsiding somewhat.
“We aren’t certain. Our hope was that they would be in the limousine, but based on the escape tactics deployed by the rest of the motorcade, we now believe that they were in the vehicle behind.”
“You didn’t plan for this? That they might travel in separate vehicles?”
“I was aware of the possibility, but with no intelligence, there was nothing to be done. This operation was focused on Xander, and it appears to have been a success. If he is indeed dead, the Dramans will be vulnerable again.”
“If he’s dead?” Karl said, pointing to the flames on the screen. “You think he could have survived that?”
“I’d feel better if our people saw the body,” Nazarov responded, knowing that he couldn’t afford another mistake. “We’re watching Xander’s house to see if the Dramans return, and our people in law enforcement and the media are continuing to watch for any attempt by the Dramans to make contact. But there’s been nothing so far.”
“What about Mason and the others?”
“We’re nearly finished sterilizing everything. They’ve all been moved, their identities changed, and their assets laundered. Within the week, our original organization will have virtually ceased to exist.”
“Virtually?”
Nazarov took a seat unbidden and again failed to think of a way to soften the impact of what he had to say. “The exception is you and this island. Those are the last unaltered links to our former structure.”
Karl’s expression darkened predictably, but it had less effect than it normally would. As angry as he would be over having to abandon everything he’d built there, Nazarov was even more pleased. The island was inescapable—a universe created and controlled by one man. The alternate location that Nazarov had selected was much more conducive to a hasty retreat on his part should it become necessary.
“On a more positive note,” Nazarov continued, “Susie Draman may have surfaced. Someone called in an order for medications under her prescription to a pharmacy in Kansas.”
Karl turned to the video again. It had looped back and he was temporarily mesmerized by the image of Xander’s car being lifted into the air. “Do we have people on site?”
“We do. We’re also tied into the store’s computer system and surveillance cameras. Even if someone other than Burt Seeger fills the prescription, we’ll know real-time when they’re scanned and we’ll be able to track the person who takes possession of them.”
Karl nodded slowly, fixing his gaze on Nazarov. “This is the last piece, Oleg. With her, we gain control of her parents. It’s an opportunity you can’t afford to miss.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
51
Upstate New York
May 18
Richard kept his arms around his wife as the SUV pulled up to a concrete box of a building centered in a sea of empty asphalt. The area was ringed by an electric fence, and steel posts
had been set into the ground to make it impossible for a vehicle to approach quickly or directly. Beyond the fence was a flat, treeless landscape that allowed the patrolling guards an unobstructed view in all directions.
Their driver jumped out and opened the back door, but Richard didn’t move. He had no idea where they were or why. Xander wasn’t a man who left a great deal to chance or the discretion of others, so it seemed that he’d have given orders as to what was to happen to them if he was killed. Were they just a complication now? Something that could muddle his legacy? What was inside that building? A crematorium? A wet cement foundation that would become their final resting place?
“Sir?” the man prompted.
Richard finally stepped out, gently pulling his wife along with him. She made it to the curb but then sank down onto it and put her head in her hands.
“Honey?” he said, his fear of Xander’s men suddenly eclipsed by concern for his wife. He’d never seen her like this. She’d sobbed for almost a half an hour after Xander’s death, finally slipping into a near catatonic state as they made their way here.
“Sir?” the man prompted again, and Richard spun toward him. “Could you just give us a fucking minute?”
The force of his tone surprised everyone within earshot, and the man retreated to a heavy steel door set into the building, scanning the horizon while he waited.
“Carly? Are you OK?”
“I never had any hope,” she said.
“What?”
“That’s my secret. You always thought it was strength, or Zen, or whatever. But it wasn’t. I knew you’d never cure her. Everyone did.”
He knelt next to her, and she took his hand. “It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in you, Richard. But it was impossible. The years go by so fast, and the disease…” Her voice faded for a moment. “It was too much for you. For anyone. But then I saw Mason, and for the first time I thought Susie could have a future. I let myself imagine her growing up. Going to her wedding. Having grandchildren.”
Richard just nodded, unsure what else to do. He knew what hope could do to a person. If there was anything in life he really understood, it was that.
52
Upstate New York
May 18
The lobby of the building housed two well-armed men wearing body armor and another sitting behind a bank of monitors. Richard and Carly were led past them to a heavy door that opened automatically when they got close.
Despite the comfortable familiarity of the steel counters, sinks, and gleaming lab equipment they found inside, Richard felt a jolt of adrenaline when the door clanged shut behind them. The lack of windows, the sense of powerlessness, the loss of hope, all started to close in on him.
“It’s about goddamn time.”
The voice sounded hollow as it bounced around the room but not so hollow as to be from beyond the grave. They both stood frozen as Andreas Xander rolled out from behind a row of file cabinets.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, the familiar psychotic glee audible in his voice. “They’re gonna to have to do a hell of a lot better than that if they want to kill me. This isn’t amateur hour anymore.”
Richard glanced over at his wife, whose mouth was actually hanging open as she tried to process what she was seeing.
“Who was in the car?” she finally managed to get out.
“A decoy. I got a few of ’em,” he said, his lips stretching over stained teeth in what passed for a grin. “I suppose they’ll want raises now.”
To him it was just another victory over his enemies—another thing he could use to transform the reflection he saw in the mirror into the young, powerful figure he once was. The people who had died for him in that car—their families and friends—meant nothing.
“This is the best we could do on short notice,” he said, waving a hand around the room. “It’s defensible if those idiots working for Mason manage to find it, and it has everything you need to tide you over until we can get the lab at the compound done.”
Richard put a hand on his wife’s back, keeping her close as he examined the mix of new instruments and equipment plundered from Mason’s lab. It wasn’t over. He still had time. Susie still had time.
“Where are the computers?”
“India,” Xander replied. “We’ve got the best people in the world on it, but I’m being told that they’re going to be tough to crack. Maybe a week, maybe a month. Maybe never.”
Richard reached out to open the refrigerator they’d taken but then hesitated and looked back at Xander.
“Go ahead, Doc.”
Inside he found neat rows of vials and test tubes, all labeled with numbers that he suspected tracked to those inaccessible computer files.
Xander pointed a bony finger at a steel box on the bottom shelf. “You wouldn’t believe what we went through to get into that thing.”
Richard opened it, struggling with the weight of a solid steel lid that was almost an inch thick.
“It had an incredibly intricate locking system and three separate explosive charges designed to incinerate its contents if it was improperly accessed.”
“So this is special,” Richard said, reaching out and running a finger over the smooth glass of the vial inside. “They didn’t want anyone to get to it.”
“That’s the goddamn understatement of the century. We tracked down the guy who made the box, and guess what? He just happened to die in a house fire twelve hours before we got to him. All the plans were gone, and his assistant was found in some field with a bullet in his head. They didn’t even bother to try to make that one look like an accident. It’s a miracle our people cracked it without having the thing blow up in their faces. One in a hundred chance.”
Carly was beside him, staring down into the box, mesmerized by the gleam of the tiny vial. “Could that be it?”
“I don’t know,” Richard said. “Maybe.”
“How long for you to find out?” Xander asked. “How long before I can take it?”
Richard glanced over at the old man, but turned away before their eyes could meet. He already knew what he would see—or more precisely, what he wouldn’t see. There would be no memory of Susie and the other children, no thought of what this could mean for the world. Xander was a cold, empty universe unto himself.
“I have no idea,” Richard said finally. “We don’t know anything about it. How does it work? Is this one dose or a thousand? How’s it administered—all at once or over the course of a year? Is it complete as is or only one of ten components? Hell, is it a decoy? Could they have let you find it on purpose?”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Doc? To answer those questions.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll be safe here until you can be moved back to the house. We can’t have you going back and forth, though. It’s too dangerous.”
“OK.”
“Whatever you need, you get,” Xander said. “Do you understand what I’m saying? A million dollars, ten million, a hundred million. It’s all the same to me. The only thing that matters is getting this done and getting it done fast.”
Xander turned and began wheeling toward the door. “Come on, Carly, you can ride with me. We need to get back before those bastards find out they screwed up.”
“I’ll stay here with Richard.”
He stopped but didn’t turn. “I had to promise the men that I’d bring you with me. If you aren’t there to cook, I might have a mutiny on my hands.”
While his syntax had a calculated politeness, his tone carried the real message: “I have your wife, and I expect results.”
They were in no position to negotiate, so Richard forced a smile. “You don’t want to be stuck here sleeping on the floor.”
He leaned forward to kiss her, but she bobbed her head left at the last moment, bringing her lips close to his ear. “Whatever happens, no one could have done more to help Susie and the other kids. No one.”
He watched her follow Xander through the door
and continued standing there for a long time after they were gone, ignoring the security cameras tracking him from the ceiling.
He could almost feel the vial radiating behind him. But radiating what? A future for Susie? For men like Xander? For all of humanity?
It was impossible to consider something that powerful without regressing into thoughts of good and evil.
But which one was it?
53
Wichita, Kansas
May 20
The plan was to be in and out quick—ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.
That had been five hours ago.
Burt Seeger reached for his coffee but then decided that he’d already had too much. His jitters were bad enough without feeding them.
The Walmart across the street was clearly visible through the windows of the McDonald’s, and he watched the afternoon sun glint off the sea of cars in the parking lot. His eyesight and memory weren’t what they once were, making it even more difficult to identify telltale patterns in the comings and goings of hundreds— maybe thousands—of customers.
The people he was up against weren’t going to pull a big surveillance van into the middle of the lot and let loose a bunch of steroid addicts with earpieces. They’d be more subtle than that. They’d be invisible.
And so there he was, sitting in the middle of American suburbia feeling like he was staring into the entrance of an Afghan slot canyon.
He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed, hearing a familiar voice pick up almost immediately.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Susie. Everything OK?”
“Where are you? What, did you go to the Walmart in France?”
He managed a smile, but it faded quickly. Being forced to leave a sick eight-year-old girl alone in a rusting RV didn’t do much for his mood.
