Chapter 10

Like a great, graceful eagle the Double Helix soared through the heavens, her sleek hull slicing easily through the billowing clouds of a gathering storm. Brennan kept a close eye on the instrument panel as he guided the ship, his hands strong and steady on the controls. Lexa had warned him of the approaching weather system, but as it was still developing he elected to stay on course for the time being. He had flown through storms before, so he knew what to expect, and he knew the capabilities of the craft he was piloting. The Helix was a sturdy little ship, able to withstand a pretty fair amount of buffeting, and her electronic systems were well shielded. If the storm blew into something really severe he had the option of climbing above it, but chances were good that they would be through the system and gone long before it got to that point. The shortest distance between two points was a straight line, and Brennan meant to keep to that line as much as possible, storm or no storm. It would save time, which could well be in short supply. They were in a race with a dangerous sociopath, and every minute might count.

Utilizing information gained by hacking into the Federal Aviation Administration's network, Jesse had been able to track Damien Acosta's plane as it traveled across the country, and even managed to locate him visually on satellite. At the most recent check a few minutes ago he was flying over northeastern New Mexico. The renegade mutant had begun the race with a substantial head start on them, but the Helix was steadily eating into that lead. They themselves had just crossed into Colorado. Soon the Rocky Mountains would rise before them like a great stone barrier, but once cleared, Brennan figured to close the gap even further over Utah and Nevada. According to the computer projections, at their present rate of speed they would arrive in San Francisco slightly ahead of the other jet. With luck they would be able to collect Shalimar and be on their way back to Sanctuary before Acosta had a chance to realize that his plan had failed. That is, if nothing went wrong.

But what if it didn't work out that way? What if they had to slug it out? Brennan's blood went cold at the thought. Damien Acosta was reminiscent of Gabriel Ashlocke in that he was a very powerful telepath/telekinetic who had no qualms about using his abilities to their most lethal effect. They needed to have a plan ready just in case; he needed to have a plan. Though the team developed strategy for their missions together, if things got hairy in the field the others subconsciously looked to him for leadership. It wasn't a role he sought, just one that he sort of fell into, but it was a responsibility he accepted and took seriously, so he needed to be prepared. If push came to shove their lives might depend on him having something, or preferably several somethings, up his sleeve.

It would have been helpful to see the man in action during the Naxcon battle in order to get some kind of read on the scope of his abilities, but unfortunately that hadn't happened. Brennan was forced to rely on Jesse's description and what he could find out from the mutant database, as well as his experience with similar talents, to develop a battle plan. He already knew something about telekinesis; it was a versatile power, one that in theory could use just about anything around as a weapon. Any power had weaknesses, though, just as any person had limits on how much energy they could expend at any given time. Acosta was trying to keep a low profile in his pursuit of Shalimar, and with his arrogance no doubt thought he could capture her alone. That may or may not be true, but he didn't know the rest of the team was racing him to San Francisco. If it came down to a fight Mutant X would have a four to one advantage. That ought to be enough to take him down.

Ordinarily, that is. The problem was he wasn't only a telekinetic, he was also a telepath of unknown strength and ability. Telepathy was a power with a lot of nuances. There were several in the mutant database; some could read thoughts but not project, some could project their thoughts but not read others, and there were a few who could do both. Two could not only do that, but also influence other minds. Damien Acosta was one of those two, and that was what made him so dangerous. If he was able to get to Shalimar first, he could invade her mind, warp it and turn her against them. Over my dead body, Brennan swore.

He drew a deep, calming breath, forcing himself to relax. Don't even go there, he told himself. They were going to get to Shalimar first. That was a given. What he had to focus on now was the possible scenario that, if or when they clashed, Acosta might telepathically sense whatever strategy they had prepared. That was what Brennan would have to find a way to counter.

But how the hell did you fight someone who knows what you're going to do as soon as you do? The same way you fight any opponent, his old Green Beret mentor seemed to whisper in his ear, by exploiting their weaknesses. Everyone has them.

Right. Weaknesses. This should be no more difficult than any other fight. All he had to do was break down Acosta's abilities and analyze them, just as he would analyze a martial arts opponent's fighting style. He was good at that. Start with the most dangerous aspect, and go from there. So – what would be the limitations of telepathy?

Proximity was one. The telepath who tortured him had to have touch contact. Brennan quickly squashed the reflexive wave of horror and gut-wrenching nausea that the memory still evoked and forced his mind back to the business at hand. Where was he? Right – the effective range of Acosta's telepathic ability. The mutant database's profile on him didn't mention that particular detail, and from Jesse's and Lexa's descriptions of the Naxcon battle it didn't appear he needed physical touch to get inside another's mind. Neither of his teammates, though, could guess with any kind of accuracy how close he had to be to be effective, and Lexa was reluctant to call attention to themselves by trying to pull information on him from Dominion sources. Dead end.

Perhaps he could come at this from another angle. Telepathy, like telekinesis, was a mental power. Both required a certain amount of focus, so perhaps the best way of tackling it was to disrupt the mind. Sound would do it; at Naxcon Jesse had broken Acosta's mental hold on the Helix by bombarding him with alarms pumped out through the Helix's external speakers. Then he swung the ship around and blasted him with the jet's backwash. That did the trick, and allowed the team to make their escape.

This looked promising. They probably couldn't use the Helix that way again, but there were other ways to distract someone. Bright light could do it, like Lexa's light burst, or perhaps even his own electricity. Surprise, though, was vital. Without it they were dead. That brought him back to the possibility of telepathic eavesdropping. Maybe they could overload him; use coordinated attacks from different directions and in unexpected ways. If they could keep hitting him hard and fast, too fast for him to keep up, they might be able to keep him off balance long enough to take him out. Brennan knew from personal experience that a good distraction at the right time could be just as effective a weapon as any of their powers. The way this was shaping up they might just need all the weapons they could get.

The great stone fortress of the Rocky Mountains loomed into view. Brennan made an altitude adjustment and went back to his planning. It was likely that Acosta would be doing the same thing; unless he planned to let his DNA-grafted minions do all the heavy lifting, he had to know that he would be engaging Mutant X at some point. He had security footage from the Naxcon fight to study, so he would know some of their moves. That kind of predictability could get them in serious trouble. The smart thing to do would be to throw some twists into the mix, think of some new ways to use their powers individually and collectively. With this problem to gnaw on as an alternative to driving himself nuts with worry over Shalimar, Brennan felt some of the tension ease from his body as he immersed himself in analyzing and breaking down their usual fight patterns. Soon his mind was swirling with different stratagems, combat sequences and team pairings as he guided the ship westward over the towering peaks.

A row behind and across the aisle from the big elemental, Lexa Pierce cast covert glances at her teammates as she worked away on her computer, ready to flip to another screen at a second's notice if necessary to hide what she was doing. Brennan wasn't a problem; as long as she kept him supplied with up-to-date weather information he was well occupied with his piloting and his deep, and she suspected intensely personal, concern over Shalimar. Jesse, however, kept moving back and forth between the computer station opposite her and the copilot's chair. She had to be ready in case he stopped by to check on her progress.

She was supposed to be setting up personal history profiles to match the multiple new ID sets Jesse was creating for them. They all agreed that a showdown with the Dominion would happen at some point, so it behooved them to begin making some preparations. Over dinner last night she and Jesse made a laundry list of things they would need when it came down to war with the Dominion, and divided it up four ways. Because of her familiarity with Dominion procedures, creating separate and distinct computer identities that they weren't likely to stumble over was one of the main items on her to-do list.

Lexa had done some preliminary work on this, but there was something more vital that she had to take care of first. Everything they came up with was important in its way, but it was all part of a defensive strategy, a fail-safe position in case Sanctuary was compromised. Against an opponent with the vast resources of the Dominion, however, a defensive strategy alone was pitifully, even fatally inadequate. They had to do something to take the offensive, lessen the enormous odds stacked against them, and that was what the tall brunette was working on.

A pre-emptive strike at Dominion Headquarters was what was called for here, a multi-pronged attack calculated to inflict the maximum amount of damage before the Dominion even knew anything was happening. The tactics she employed would need to take down several targets at around the same time, her sabotage spread around to affect as many areas as possible, and tie up manpower and resources that would otherwise be used to overwhelm them. If she could do that, maybe the rest of the team would have a fighting chance.

The first step was to hit them where they were most vulnerable – their dependence on technology. Everything ran off their super-sophisticated computer system, including those nasty sub-dermal governors which effectively bottled up the use of a mutant's powers. The system was both their greatest strength and biggest weakness. To that end she spent weeks secretly creating a core-killer supervirus, utilizing highly advanced and decidedly virulent code streams gleaned from some of Adam Kane's private files. It was ready now. All she needed was an unguarded terminal. Once uploaded, she could move on to her next target while the virus, aptly named 'Kane Mutiny', propagated itself invisibly throughout the system. It would then suddenly burst to life, corrupting both software and hardware simultaneously throughout the system, and generally making the entire network freak out. The resulting uproar should provide her with a dandy diversion, enabling her to get to the Council chamber and clean a few snakes out of that rattler's nest. Ultimately, she hoped to get to their boss, the one they called 'The Creator'.

This was a mission she had to undertake alone. The others were babes in the woods when it came to this kind of thing. Her stealth capabilities and professional experience, her knowledge of Dominion security procedures and building layout made her the only one who could do the job. She was also the only one with the stomach to do what must be done. Assassination wasn't a pretty word, but there were some who really deserved it. The Dominion Council was a pit of pure evil. Maybe she could spare MacGruff – she hoped so - but the others had to go. The best way to kill a snake was to cut off its head, or in this case, heads. It was that black and white.

The others couldn't know about this. At the very least they would demand to go with her, and that she could not allow. Her chances for success were slim enough as it was. Jesse in particular would vehemently object because of his growing feelings for her. That kind of sentiment would only get him killed. She might not be the right woman for him – Lord knew she wasn't exactly the domestic type – but she would do whatever she could to keep him alive long enough for him to find someone who could make him happy and give him the children he wanted. That was the least she owed him, and so she kept on with her preparations, trying to plot out each step of the operation while keeping a surreptitious eye on Jesse, as well as staying abreast of weather conditions for Brennan. Fortunately, she was good at multi-tasking.

Jesse spent the trip shuttling back and forth between two stations, dividing his time between co-pilot duties, monitoring Damien Acosta's progress across the country, and his own part of their contingency preparations. Using the Double Helix's link to the systems back at Sanctuary, he was overseeing the copying of data to a brand new stand-alone server. Once everything was downloaded it would be placed in a secure location that Brennan found, providing them with an offsite backup of virtually all the data currently contained in the main system if they should ever need it.

He wasn't so caught up in his duties, though, that he didn't recognize the tension that permeated the cockpit. Brennan's was a no-brainer. He had always had a special kind of feeling for Shalimar, but perhaps now he was coming to realize just how special. Lexa, on the other hand, had a much quieter vibe going on. It wasn't just silence; there seemed to be an underlying edginess, even furtiveness, in her demeanor that had been present ever since they left Sanctuary. Jesse couldn't quite put his finger on why he thought this, or even explain how he came to be so acutely sensitive to her moods in the first place. He tried to tell himself that he was imagining things; Lexa had been secretive and intense for as long as he had known her, so this was nothing new. Unfortunately, he couldn't get himself to buy it. There was something just a little bit different, a subtle nuance in her manner that concerned him. It felt… tighter, darker …like she was unobtrusively closing off a part of herself, a part that she didn't want to be seen. He had seen this behavior in her before, this donning of her emotional armor, in those moments when the shadows of her previous Dominion work crept over her like some ghostly shroud, but he couldn't fathom why he was seeing it now. Did Lexa know more about Shalimar's situation than she was telling, or was this just her inclination of expecting the worst coming to the fore? Or was it something else entirely?

Before he could speculate further, his attention was distracted by movement on the screen dedicated to following Damien Acosta's plane. He sat up straighter and zoomed in on the activity.

'Hey – I've got something."

Lexa rose from her chair and moved to look over his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Acosta. It looks like he's getting jumped by a pair of gunships." He tapped a couple of keys, pulling the focus even closer. Lexa leaned in for a better look.

"That's the Dominion, all right. I told you they probably had something up their sleeves."

"Good," Brennan muttered from the pilot's chair, "Maybe they'll whack the bastard and save us the trouble."

Jesse tried to ignore the feathery brush of Lexa's hair against the collar of his shirt. With narrowed eyes he stared at the screen, watching the action unfold. It was over in a handful of seconds. He sucked in a breath, felt Lexa's gasp against his cheek. Slowly his head lifted. He looked past her and met Brennan's eyes with an expression of disbelief.

"Don't count on it."

The stately Gulfstream jet cruised effortlessly over the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains through clear skies which allowed Damien Acosta a birds-eye view of the panorama below. The name, which translated literally as "the Blood of Christ", was said to come from the red color of the range at some sunrises and sunsets, especially when the mountains are covered with snow. There was no red now, of course, being the middle of the day, but the scenery was still compelling, and Damien was a man who appreciated beauty in any of its myriad forms. These hills didn't have the picture-postcard majesty and splendor of the Colorado Rockies or the Swiss Alps, but there was a ruggedness here that appealed to him. The topography of New Mexico, with its scrappy cacti and hardscrabble terrain, was a reminder of how hard he had fought to get where he was now. In this unforgiving land, life was about struggle and survival, a place where the harsh realities of life were distilled to their purest essence, and only the strong survived.

He felt that essence touching a place deep inside, perhaps because he was preparing for his own battle for survival, an epic chess game that would change the balance of power throughout the world. It was always meant to be thus. Ever since he first became aware of the Dominion he had known that there wasn't room for both of them in the behind-the-scenes shadow game of global domination. They had ruled for over two hundred years, directing the evolution of science and technology as they saw fit, but now their time was done. His star was ascending, his plans were set, and the two were now on a collision course with destiny. Only one piece remained to set into place, a catalyst to put it all in motion, and he was on his way to obtain that now.

The Dominion Council had to be frustrated. Despite their best efforts he was still alive, his organization was flourishing, and his incisive, sometimes uncanny strikes at their most closely guarded facilities was draining them of both resources and prestige. They knew he had to be getting his intelligence information from the very top, but their attempts to find the source of his pipeline were maddeningly fruitless, for the simple reason that his spy didn't know he was a spy. By now they must suspect that he was getting his information telepathically, but how could they figure out from whom, much less how to stop it? Damien could perceive hints of desperation beginning to creep into Dominion operations, an almost frenzied increase in raids against his holdings. Perhaps they were coming to realize that their window of opportunity to stop him was shrinking fast. The assassination attempt on him this morning in Miami was a case in point.

He hadn't been surprised by the attack itself, but by the public nature of the hit. Shooting up an international airport in full view of an array of security cameras was not the way the Dominion usually handled such things; they preferred to keep a lower profile. An ambush over the Gulf of Mexico was more to be expected – what could be cleaner than having his plane disappear into several hundred feet of water- but it hadn't occurred. In fact, the flight had been remarkably quiet. Damien was puzzled. Once they knew the shooters at the Miami airport had failed, it should have been child's play to get his flight plan and discover his destination, if not his purpose. He knew they had air resources, some of them military-grade. What were they waiting for?

A distinctive buzz from his Iphone pulled his attention from the question. An uneasy premonition fluttered through him when he saw it was a text message from Allan Dawson, the agent he had watching the feral, Shalimar Fox, in San Francisco. Could something have gone wrong with his plan? Damien thumbed the screen to access the message.

Package secured, usual place. Unavoidable.

Damn! Damien set the device down with a snap at this unexpected development. What could have caused this? Dawson had been under strict orders not to take Fox into custody. Her acquisition had to be handled carefully in order to keep her teammates, and in particular the Dominion Council, from suspecting anything until it was too late. What made Dawson move prematurely? More importantly, did anyone else know Fox had been captured?

Dawson said the situation was unavoidable, but offered no details as to why. Damien had used the man before, and he had always been reliable. There was no reason at this juncture to think otherwise. The situation seemed to be under control, but there were ramifications that had to be considered. Damien steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his luxurious chair, trying to think this through.

This development might actually work to his advantage. The Dominion knew he was heading to San Francisco, but they didn't know why. Presumably, since they were keeping a very close eye on Mutant X these days, they also knew Fox was in the city visiting her mother. On the surface there was nothing to connect the two, but if a Dominion agent happened to spot him near the mother's place, where he originally planned to take her, the Council might have put two and two together. This way, if Dawson had been able to acquire Fox without being seen, and given the nature of his power that was likely, then Damien would be able to collect his prize without anyone being the wiser. Their usual meeting place was several blocks from the penthouse.

Still, Damien couldn't help coming back to the why, the reason Dawson hadn't waited for him as per orders. Probably the cause was legitimate. On the other hand, man had been very full of himself lately. During their phone conversation earlier in the day his subordinate had been both smug and cocky, and Damien was well aware that he had ambitions of rising in the organization. The latter wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but taken with the former could be a dangerous combination for a task as sensitive as this. Damien shook his head, dismissing the notion. Ambitious he might be, but Dawson wasn't stupid enough to jeopardize the operation unnecessarily, not when he had been warned in no uncertain terms about the importance of this assignment. Damien would have his head – literally.

The sudden, sharp crackle of the plane's intercom interrupted his thoughts.

"Mr. Acosta – unidentified craft approaching fast!"

Even as he leapt to his feet and hurried forward Damien could feel the plane rise in a precipitous climb. The pilot shot a quick glance over his shoulder when his employer entered the cockpit and stood behind him.

"Helicopters, sir, two of them. They just popped up on the screen from below the range line, like they were waiting for us or something."

"I'm sure they were. You're climbing to evade?"

"Yes sir. At twenty-three thousand feet and climbing we're already above their maximum altitude, but …"

He never got the chance to finish the thought. A strident warning tone blared through the cockpit.

"Sonuvabitch – missiles incoming!"

Damien gripped the man's shoulder.

"Relax, Captain," he said evenly, "I'll take care of this. Continue to climb, but bank the plane back toward them – I need to be able to see the incoming missiles."

The terrified pilot glanced back over his shoulder in wordless incredulity, but obeyed nonetheless. Damien really couldn't blame him. He had no idea what was about to happen. All he knew was that a pair of missiles was inbound at the jet he was flying, and that death was imminent. With his hand still on the pilot's shoulder, Damien sent a telepathic pulse into his mind, calming him and focusing his attention on the actions required. Later, Damien would erase his memory of this little incident, but for now there were more important matters to deal with.

So this was the Dominion's strategy. They had probably been tracking him via satellite, and were able to plot his course in time to set up what he had to admit was a flawlessly-planned, lethal ambush. The mountains hid the helicopters until they could pounce, and the speed of the attack wouldn't give their quarry enough time to climb out of range. The jet wasn't armed, and had very little in the way of defenses. The missiles, whether Stinger, Sidewinder, or something equally deadly, shouldn't have any problem destroying the aircraft and all aboard. Any debris that wasn't vaporized would be spread over a large area of very rugged, inaccessible terrain No doubt the authorities, when or if they were alerted, would determine that this was the result of some sort of mechanical failure; a tragic accident with no survivors. So sad, but it happened all the time. Case closed.

Unfortunately for them, the assassins didn't know who they were dealing with. Peering out the cockpit window, Damien reached out with his mind, sending probing tendrils of telekinetic energy fanning out through the sky between the Gulfstream and the hovering copters. The timing here was going to be a little tricky. These missiles would be traveling at several hundred miles per hour, and the effective range of his telekinesis was only a couple of hundred feet. He felt confident that he could locate them in time, but finding them and dealing with them were two different things. He couldn't just form a telekinetic wall to stop them, or simply slam them together, as the detonation point would be uncomfortably close to his aircraft and might damage it. If he could turn them, however, gently and precisely enough that they didn't explode, he might be able to send them back from whence they came.

He concentrated harder, and almost immediately picked them up, two slivers of white against the green/brown background of the earth below, coming toward them at a phenomenal rate. Damien focused on first one rear stabilizer, then the other, crimping each downward to give himself more time. It was delicate work, and for a few heartbeats he was afraid that he was going to have to detonate them anyway, but then the projectiles shifted, their paths taking them around the plane. The pilot sighed in heartfelt relief, but Damien wasn't finished yet. He tweaked the stabilizers again, and watched them veer away even further until they completed a 360 degree arc. The two choppers, after a moment of stunned amazement that the two rockets were now inexplicably headed back in their direction, scrambled to get out of the way. They just barely made it. The missiles impacted into the side of a mountain, sending up an enormous cloud of earth and debris.

A satisfied smile touched Damien's lips. It would have been nice if he could have destroyed the pair, but he had known it was extremely unlikely, as his powers couldn't reach far enough to guide the missiles that precisely. Still, it was close enough, and the enemy pilots had to be staggered at how they could have been turned like that in the first place. They would report back to the Dominion Council, leaving that august body to some wild conjecture as to just how powerful he really was. They were already paranoid about him, and this could only add to it.

That was a good thing.