Part Three
Rescues And Reprisals
"Finished." Dr. David Clark smiled as he saved his work. In less than two hours, he'd
reconstructed the research database for Schrader's Folly, with far fewer holes than seemed
possible. Though he hated them on principle, he couldn't fault Adam Kane's pack of bipedal lab
rats for doing a poor job. They'd retrieved most of his disks and the samples of Series III, the
latest and most potent form of the poison gas. The smile Clark wore turned dark and grew fangs.
"I can't fault them for failure, but they exist. That's more than enough for me."
A sound from behind made him turn. One of the new security men, the overall commander
by the cut and markings on his uniform, stood just outside the office doorway. "Sir, we've
completed our first perimeter sweep. I felt I should tell you that we need more men. Your estate
is. . . larger than we anticipated."
The brief hesitation in the guard's voice made Clark smirk. "You were expecting a pathetic
hovel on a broken land. You found grandeur instead."
Uncertain how to answer such a statement, the commander merely shrugged.
"Is there anything else?"
Seeming uncomfortable, the man cleared his throat and carefully considered how best to
phrase his request. For reasons he couldn't quite pin down, Clark made the commander
nervous. He'd been told by his superiors that a previous security force had failed in fully
protecting this arrogant scientist. They'd told him that failure would result in more than the usual
penalties. This man was too important to lose.
The commander thought the story about another security unit a load of manure. His people
were well-trained and armed with enough hardware to start World War III. To even conceive
of another team with talent and tools to match his force was to imagine boogeymen that couldn't
exist.
Regardless of his incredulity about his predecessors, the commander had been given strict
orders about how to deal with Dr. Clark and the lovely Tiffany. They were to be handled with
kid gloves, every nicety observed. He had to be respectful and professional, as if guarding the
President rather than a simple scientist and his daughter. That meant asking only the barest
minimum of questions and not upsetting Clark.
The commander hoped he was being properly respectful as he carefully laid out the problem
he was faced with.
"We need more men. Can't patrol these grounds with just ten. We could use a few more in
the control center too." By the way he spoke, he didn't expect his employer to grant him leave to
call in more men. Every additional man cost between four and six thousand a day. They were
elite, armed, and very tough. The best security firm in the city; they were one of the top five in
the world.
Clark surprised the man by saying "whatever you need, get it. Cost is unimportant." He
relished the astonished expression on the commander's face, that shocked and awed look of a
soul immersed in hell given a glimpse of heaven. Bewildered but extremely pleased, acting very
much like Tiffany Clark on her birthday, the man left.
Thinking about his daughter brought the attack on the warehouse lab to the forefront of
Dr. Clark's brain. He thought about what she'd told him, about using a syringe filled with a liquid
concentrate of Schrader's Folly. Though he hated to think about it, he knew she'd used one of
the previous, flawed incarnations of the poison rather than the perfected Series III.
Clark wished he could simply write off her claims as a child's ignorant prattle.
After all, Tiffany wasn't absolutely reliable. She could have been mistaken about using a
syringe filled with crimson death. Many different substances were kept at arm's reach in his
warehouse office prior to the fire so there was a slight chance she was wrong.
He trusted her to be infallible, though, due to her aversion to punishment. If there was
one thing in all the world that could be relied upon, it was that he would make her suffer for any
foolish error. In the eyes of Dr. Clark, and to his way of thinking those of any loving father, a
mistake was as good as a lie. After her last lie had been paid for with three broken ribs and a
concussion, it didn't seem likely Tiffany would say anything she wasn't completely certain of.
Another lie would carry that same price. With interest.
A deep frown further darkened his expression. In the austere surroundings of his home
office, blank walls of neutral cream and thick carpeted floors of gun metal grey, he considered
the ramifications of his daughter's revelation. The first two series of Schrader's Folly he'd
created were flawed. The first success, Series I, worked as a catalyst for mutation, causing an
acceleration of the unnatural corruption of humanity. Powers could swell out of control during
this process, which might or might not cause the mutant's death. Clark despised Series I and had
kept only a few samples of it in his warehouse office, purely for testing purposes.
He considered Series I a success only because it affected so-called "new mutants"
exclusively. It was flawed, but it was also a stepping stone.
"I hope that wasn't what Tiffany found. I'd hate to think my work helped a freak get
stronger." Dr. Clark rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. He'd been working nonstop at
top speed, carefully piecing together gaseous death in all its glory and grace. Every muscle in his
body yearned for a break. "No rest for the righteous." He muttered, paraphrasing a quote that
had come to cliché.
The original version, rather than his rendering, would have been more accurate.
Mind wandering to Series II, Clark found some measure of hope. His second attempt had
been far more effective. Although it caused a temporary increase in mutation, this was merely a
prelude to the useful elements of the gas. Lingering in the bloodstream, Series II created slow
and steady decline in cellular function by damaging genetic code within human mitochondria. The
resulting loss of ATP energy eventually caused death in a mutant.
"Not quite perfect, but useful in its own ways. Certainly worth keeping around for fun and
games if nothing else."
Clark kept many samples of Series II for torture purposes and as a control method,
something to use on the few mutants that would serve as tools during the purging of their filth.
Once they'd served their purpose, Series III, the latest and most successful gas type, could be
used to finish them or they could simply be allowed to waste away, spending their last days
dwelling on their betrayal of fellow mutants while working in camps. This was likely what Tiffany
had injected the freak bitch with.
The potential to better the world that lay in his work made him almost weep with pride. So
much death and despair waiting to happen, yearning for birth, and all Dr. Clark had to do was
deliver the gas to the government.
Easy as murder.
"This is turning into a rather good day."
As he said the words, an alarm began to scream. In an instant, he heard gunfire and people
yelling. Clark rose from his chair in a rush, banging his knee on the desk. "Tiffany!" He called
as he raced toward the office door. Even before he got there, she came in, slamming the door
behind her. "Come here. Are you hurt?" Without waiting for her obedience or an answer, Clark
pulled his daughter to him and with a army medic's thoroughness checked for injuries. Satisfied
that she wasn't hurt, he turned toward his bedroom. "This way. I have a gun."
Tiffany followed, but hesitantly. "I don't think they care father."
Ignoring her, Clark shoved a dresser across the door frame, sealing them in. Inside the top
drawer lay a .357 revolver, loaded with magnum bullets. He had no extra ammunition. He'd
never expected to be attacked, not really.
Outside, people were shouting. At first, the Clarks thought they were raining curses down
on their enemies. Then one of the security guards started slamming his fists against the bedroom
door. So close, they could easily make out his screams. "Oh God! Please, God, let me in! God,
oh God, oh sweet Jesus let me in! They're not human! Let me in! I don't want to die! Please, no,
no! No! Stay away!"
The last cry was one of such anguish, even Dr. Clark started to cry. A stench crept in with
startling alacrity, snapping at their nasal passages with merciless evil. Burning flesh, boiling blood.
Fire feasting on its creator, on man. Worse, a set of calm footsteps. Steady as a heart beat in
hades, quiet as Death's silken shroud passing over the earth.
A voice spoke. "You have two options Dr. Clark. You can move whatever barricade
you've thrown up and come out peacefully, do me a favor, and get to live. Otherwise, I'll just
have to let my friend Kelly toast this place with you in it. Either way, I win."
For a moment, the revolver seemed a third option. Two shots, one for Tiffany and one for
himself. It had worked for Hitler and Braun. Only when he glanced at his frightened daughter's
face did he realize he could not follow the example of his hero. Dr. Clark sighed. He laid the
weapon down and cleared the doorway. As he slid the dresser away, the door was blown off
it's hinges by a blast of energy.
Striding forward with all the confidence of God, Gabriel Ashlocke entered the bedroom.
In one hand was the flag that had hung above the doorway. He regarded it for a moment before
tossing it to a young blonde woman with beautiful features and eerily serene eyes. She caught it
in several senses of the word, for it flared the moment her flesh contacted the heartless cloth.
Kelly, for Clark knew that this woman must be his fire Elemental servant, held it until the flames
had devoured every stitch. The flag was gone in seconds and she was completely unharmed.
"Time to go doc." Gabriel grabbed him and dragged him from the room.
Kelly took hold of Tiffany, who did not struggle now, but walked with her captor as the
four left the bedroom. Clark glanced back to the place where he'd laid down his revolver,
wondering if it was truly too late for a swift end. His eyes fixed on an empty space even as
Gabriel backhanded his head and ordered him to face forward.
The .357 was gone.
************************************************************************
The only thing that saved Jesse Kilmartin's life was pure coincidence. He'd leapt blindly,
haphazardly even, from the wreckage of the Double Helix. As he ran for the safe house, its title
laughingly playing in his mind as the most ironic of nomenclature, his foot caught in a rut in the
ground. Whether it had been made by rain water or an animal, Jesse could never know, but it
saved his life. He struck the earth hard and felt the wind rush from his lungs. A few seconds
passed before his groans signaled a willingness to get up.
When he opened his eyes, which had clenched on impact, he saw an almost invisible metal
filament rising from a shallow hole in the earth. It was only two meters away. Jesse felt his heart
first skip a beat then rattle like automatic rifle fire.
"Proximity mines. Any closer and. . . ."
Jesse wondered if he would have survived a third explosion of the day.
He doubted it.
"You okay?" Shalimar called out behind him, her exit from the Helix far more careful and
calm. With every movement, she seemed to regain a bit of vitality and awareness of her
surroundings that had been lacking in the immediate moments after the crash. She focused on
him with singularly intent eyes. "What happened?"
"I tripped. Good thing too, because I was about to blow myself to bits. Someone set
proximity mines. They're probably all over the place, so watch your step."
"Thanks for the advice." She dropped from the wreak and into a crouch, her Feral instincts
preparing her for a fight.
Another scream split the calm air. "Charlotte." Jesse whispered, his mind racing. He
scrambled to his feet and, in a blind need to get to the safe house before it was too late, almost
started running forward again. Only his training and instincts kept him from doing anything so
suicidal. Cursing under his breath, Jesse surveyed the area, trying to see the nearly invisible and
utterly deadly mines. He couldn't.
The safe house was not far from them. No more than forty meters. The length of a short
walk, a quick jaunt, not even a decent clip. So tantalizingly close and yet, so very far away. One
false move and he or Shalimar would be blown apart by a mine. Jesse saw that, saw it and hated
it. Charlotte was in trouble. He had to reach her.
How? How to do so quickly and survive? He couldn't run while phased and if he tried to
running while massed out. . . well, it would be an interesting fireworks display at the least. Mind
racing, he tried to think and found himself fixating on the mines.
Suddenly, Shalimar was at his side. "We have to get in there."
Beside her, Jesse nodded. "Charlotte needs me." He shook his head harshly at that and
corrected himself. "Charlotte needs us, I mean."
If he thought his oddly possessive and protective tones had gone unnoticed by the stately
blonde at his side, Jesse was bordering on delusional. Then again, perhaps he simply assumed,
unknowingly, the same things Adam and Emma had been thinking when they sought to conceal
their affections. That, if they didn't tell anyone anything specific, no one would put together clues
and draw their own conclusions. Perhaps that was what Jesse thought. If he left the truth
unspoken, it would remain unnoticed, right?
"Looks like Emma's not the only one with a new love." Shalimar said offhandedly.
"I haven't seen or spoken to her since she spent ten minutes apologizing to all of us after
turning Adam into a lethal weapon." He replied. That had the dual benefits of being true and
vague at the same time. Fortunately, Shalimar did not press it. Jesse breathed a sigh of relief.
His thoughts were locked on Charlotte. Ever since he'd told Shalimar what had happened, a
lump had been forming in the pit of his belly. A dread certainty had descended on him that they
were too late. "We've got to save her." He whispered harshly.
Shalimar's hand brushed against his. "We will. I think I can get us across this mine field."
Her enhanced senses sniffed the air for the tang of explosives. "I can't smell them." She grunted,
annoyed with herself. Then, she smiled. "But I can see them. If we stay far enough away, they
won't explode. Hopefully."
Her keen eyes noted tiny holes in the ground, about seven of them, all around the field
they'd landed in. "Stick to me. Step where I step." She didn't look back to see if Jesse was
listening, she assumed he was smart enough to trust her. Intensely focused, Shalimar moved
carefully through paths in the mine field. She tread with care. Whomever had set up the
proximity mines had fearlessly clumped them so close that only a very thin, maze-like passage
remained between them.
Jesse was there when they reached the safe house, which was seeming more ironically
named by the second, so she assumed he'd shadowed her perfectly. Looking left and right,
Shalimar saw no more surprises. Her ears picked up on extremely muffled sounds, struggling and
crying. Considering what Jesse had told her, that was enough to make her eyes glow yellow and
her hands reflexively curl like cat's claws. She felt like real claws should have been sliding out
from the delicate skin of her fingers.
For a brief instant, she wondered if one day they would. How far would her Feral mutation
go before it finally reached its apex?
"How do we do this?" She asked, turning to Jesse. No matter how detailed his description
of the events Charlotte had informed him of, it was still thirdhand. With every passing moment,
it became less useful to them or Charlotte. Shalimar knew she wasn't as good at developing
strategies as he was. Plus, Jesse knew more about the safe houses. Several of the newer ones
were his designs.
For a moment, he considered the building, eyes checking each point of entry, mind
calculating their chances of success. Though he wasn't as good at doing math in his head as
Adam, Jesse wasn't stupid. He realized in an instant that any direct attack would fail. An enemy
that knew where they'd land would know how they'd attack.
Then an idea came to him. A mad one, pure insanity, but it was also the only thing he could
come up with that wouldn't get everyone killed. Jesse turned and looked his friend and
teammate in the eyes, staring for some time before speaking.
If his plan worked, he'd see her again. If it failed, he wouldn't be around to care.
"Well?" She asked as the silence drew too long to leave unchallenged. Precious seconds
were passing with nothing being done. In this moment, Shalimar realized that she was almost as
desperate as Jesse to save Charlotte, though for far different reasons. The horrors that had
already happened weighed on her soul. She would save her one time enemy because to fail her
would be to condemn another life to depravity and death.
A great price had already been paid in blood. She wanted justice, the debt of suffering paid
back by the guilty.
Jesse was too deeply occupied with own personal feelings to dwell on profound moral
notions. Open concern for Charlotte was only part of what he felt. Two weeks after Emma
handed him the book Hope and unknowingly the letter within, it was driving him to a desperate
and potentially fatal action.
He took a deep breath, maybe his last.
"Shalimar, wait here. I've got a plan but if it's going to work, I have to go it alone."
*************************************************************************
"I wonder why no one's called to check on us." Brennan muttered more to himself than his
teammates. "We've been gone for awhile. Coming up on two hours, right? So, why hasn't
anyone come on the comlinks and asked what we're up to?"
Beside him, Adam sipped at a fresh cup of steaming coffee and said "Jesse and Shalimar
are too busy planning their wedding to bother."
"Excuse me for worrying Mr. Coffee Hot."
"Can you two relax and act like the gentlemen you're supposed to be? This verbal judo
match was funny for a few minutes but it's starting to get old. Besides, Shal would never marry
Jesse." On the other side of Brennan, Emma stretched as she spoke. She'd been sitting for too
long. She wanted to get up and dance with Adam. After two weeks of keeping their relationship
a secret, the limits of her endurance had been reached. It was all she could do to keep her tongue
from blabbing out the secret, that she, Emma DeLauro, had fallen completely in love with Adam
Kane and desperately wanted to feel his arms around her as they made the dance floor sizzle.
Unwilling to break the vow of secrecy she'd made with Adam, Emma vented her frustrations
by saying "trust me, Shalimar and Jesse will never hook up. She's only got eyes for dark and
tragic men." Her eyes fell on Brennan. "You want to hold on to her, I suggest you start faking a
really nasty fatal illness."
"You're worse than him." Brennan grumbled as he stood up. "Let me out. I'm getting
another drink. Something strong this time. Something to make it easier to be around you two.
Like arsenic."
Emma swatted him as he headed for the bar, which had the duel of effect of making Brennan
jump a little and throw a grin over his shoulder.
With their teammate's back to them, Adam turned toward her, a gentle smile on his lips.
Eyes only for her, admiring her for a moment that he wished might last an eternity, he thought
'I'm so very, very lucky.'
Surprising Emma with a sudden show of a affection, he reached out and let his fingers gently
trace her facial lines. He paused at the underside of her chin to stroke the sensitive skin, eliciting
an almost feline purr of enjoyment. She leaned forward slightly, let his fingertips tickle her lips.
Softly, Adam said "while he's gone, we could sneak out. We could go someplace together. We
could be alone. We could talk."
"I'll bet I can guess what you'd like to 'talk' about." Emma said with a wink and bent
forward to whisper seductively in his ear.
Adam's face turned red as she spoke. When she was finished, he was flustered and more
than a little uncomfortable. "That's no way for a lady to talk." Grinning boyishly, he added
immediately "but I certainly admire your imagination."
Emma eyed him with a gaze that made it hard for him to breath. "Imagination nothing! That
was me predicting the future. Next real chance we get, everything I just told you will happen." A
coquettish leer on her face, she licked her lips. "Repeatedly." Emma started laughing when a
look of obvious anticipation formed on Adam's face, as if he'd regressed back into a teenager.
Shaking her head, she said "and I don't know if anyone's let you in on this or not, but I'm about
as far from being a lady as a woman can get."
"Don't underestimate yourself Emma. You're as elegant and refined as any other woman
I've ever known." At her raised eyebrow, he appended "when you want to be."
"Not to ruin the mood, or make you think I don't appreciate the flattery, but Brennan did
ask a good question earlier. Took a minute for my brain to realize it, but he has a point. You've
taught us to check in with each other fairly often. Jesse or Shalimar should have called us by now,
don't you think?"
"I suppose so." He glanced down at his watch, eyes narrowing in consideration. "Yes,
they should have called by now. Then again, they're probably resting. They came closer to dying
than we did."
Before she could even start to reply, Brennan returned with two glasses in hand.
"I noticed you were running low. Thought I'd be a gentleman and get you a fresh one." He
handed Emma a glass made frosty with cold; a delicious strawberry daiquiri for her drinking
pleasure. She beamed at him, touched by the thoughtful gesture. He waved a hand. "No need
to thank me, just drink and enjoy." As he spoke, he didn't return to his place between his two
teammates. Instead, he more or less sat down across from them, stretching out so that he was
half lying on the seat.
At that moment, Emma could have kissed him.
"So, what were you saying behind my back this time?"
"We weren't gossiping, Brennan. Adam was just saying that he thought Shalimar and Jesse
were probably resting and that's why they haven't called us." She sipped her new drink and
licked her lips. "Thanks. I was getting a bit thirsty again."
Brennan just nodded. "Speaking of the battle, mind if I ask a question?" When no one
objected, though Adam sighed with resignation, he continued. "What exactly was Ashlocke
after? I know that jerk Clark was working on a bunch of experimental medicines in his
warehouse. Be kind of hard not to know that, considering it was plastered over the front
entrance, 'Clark Experimental Medicine Warehouse,' how much more obvious could you get?
Still, I'd like to know what kind of wonder drug he was after. Knowing might help us to figure out
where his people are likely to strike next."
For a moment, Adam stared at Brennan. There were times he thought the man lacked even
an inkling of strategic thought. His tendency to go off haphazardly, "wing it" as he had put it once,
seemed to support such an analysis. Where Brennan was concerned, Adam had learned, there
were always surprises.
"I can't tell either of you much about Dr. Clark's research. What I know came from one of
my contacts in the government and not all of it is useful. Most of his early work involved
unleashing hidden potential in the human brain. His wife used to partner with him on projects but
they divorced four years ago. I mention this because, following the divorce, his work and his
reports became erratic and sometimes disturbing. My contact didn't elaborate on how they were
disturbing, except to say they 'reeked of hatred.' The wife's overseas now, working with a
company called Trinity Inc."
He stopped and sighed. "That's what I know. Not very useful, is it?"
"More than I knew." Brennan said as he sipped his new drink. "Think Gabriel was after
something other than medicine? Maybe Clark's gone looney tunes and created some kind of
weapon."
"The way he was hissing at us, that wouldn't surprise me at all." Speaking frankly, Emma
continued. "The hit I got off his daughter was pretty bad. What I felt from him was something
else. He hates mutants with a fanatical passion. The way he was looking at you Adam, it scared
me. I got an image from his mind. He wanted to kill you as painfully as possible."
She shivered and regarded him with soft eyes, her smile faint but so deliciously concerned
that he wanted to kiss her right then, secrecy be damned. Adam held back by force of will.
"Well, at least we don't have to deal with the Clarks again. We can't guard them if they
don't want to be guarded. Normally, I'd stay on, covertly of course, but not now. Dr. Clark,
whether a target of Gabriel's or not, is too likely to use his own security people against us if we
try and save him." Adam took a long pull on his coffee. "And on that cheery note, I'm heading
for the bathroom."
"Thanks for the memo."
"Brennan, you can be replaced."
With a sigh, Emma shook her head. "No, Adam, I don't think we could possibly find
someone else so annoying." Ignoring Brennan's snort of exasperation, she watched Adam
walking away. "Hurry back. I'm afraid of what I might do in your absence." He favored her
with a grave nod before leaving, cutting across the dance floor on his way. She watched him
walk, the way his body moved so sensually and confidantly, still so incredibly spry at his age.
Emma felt a longing deep inside.
'Why can't I go more than a minute without wanting him?' She thought as her eyes followed
his movements all the way to the restroom door. 'Every day, I wake up thinking the dream will
be over. Today he'll realize that being with me is a mistake. Today he'll break my heart.' Emma
touched her chest, her fingers just over that very place. 'Every day, I still have him, still want him,
and still love him. How did I get so lucky?'
Brennan's voice broke into her thoughts with the force of a headsman's ax. "What do you
mean? Lucky how?"
Spinning around so fast she almost knocked her drink over, Emma faced Brennan. She
hadn't realized she'd said her last thought out loud. What else had come from her mouth? "I'm
sorry, I was thinking."
"Yeah. Staring at Adam too. Should I start calling you 'teacher's pet' or what?"
In that instant, having already decided the secret had been secret long enough, having spent
every second wishing she and Adam could dance and kiss and just be affectionate without
worrying about what Brennan might think, Emma felt her resolve snap. In a momentary lapse in
judgement, an error that might have been avoided if Adam hadn't left the table, leaving her alone
with Brennan, she opened her mouth to tell everything.
Before she could utter a word, he said "no, don't say it. You're lucky the old man finally
left you alone with me, right? You're helplessly, hopelessly, and very breathlessly in love and
you've just got to tell it to the world." Without having a clue that he was striking the proverbial
nail's head into oblivion, at least when it came to her being in love, Brennan chuckled. Before this
moment, a thin thread of sanity had prevented Emma from speaking.
She needed Adam's comforting presence, his gentle eyes to gaze into and the softness of
his lips to desire, to maintain that thread. Alone with her teammate, she could no longer hold
back. She could feel her heart pounding as it screamed and pleaded for her to reveal the secret.
The team would either accept them or not. She couldn't know how they'd react. Only in a
baring of souls could Emma hope to discover her teammates' approval.
More than with any of the others, she'd been fighting the instinct to lay it all out to Brennan.
He was her closest confidant before she'd grown so close to Shalimar, the first ally she'd known
when the GSA came to collect her. Now, Emma's heart begged for action, pleaded for her to do
what her head and common sense railed against.
Brennan, unaware of the tension he was causing, the temptation he was forcing upon her,
leaned closer to Emma. "We really need to find you a date. You're starting to stare at our leader
like he's a big juicy steak and you're a hungry leopard." A snort that resembled a chuckle burst
from his lips. "That would be funnier if you were Shalimar or at least more ironic."
Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
No more secrets.
"I already have someone in my life. Someone amazing. He's handsome, gentle, and the
sweetest and most loving man I've ever been with. I'm already in love with someone who's
perfect." She spoke so calmly and with such conviction, she couldn't believe the words were
coming from her own lips. Inside, her heart was thundering and her stomach was slithering
around as if it were filled with live serpents. Cold sweat covered every millimeter of flesh.
The truth was about to set her free, but at what price? Would her friend turn away from
her and Adam, condemn their love? Emma didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted to find
out, but it was too late to turn back. Maybe she could have blanked Brennan's mind, forced
away all traces of the words she had just spoken. For whatever reason, in this moment, she was
willing to trust in him.
Blinking in surprise, Brennan happily clapped his hands. "Really? You're with someone?
Hey, congrats! Why didn't you tell me before?" He shook a finger at her, as she were a naughty
child. "Shalimar thought there something going on with you, but I figured you would have said
something about a new love in your life by now. Considering the team's track record with
significant others, we might have to have a funeral for Mr. Perfect. Or maybe a hanging." He
laughed but it was, in light of the facts, very much a case of kidding on the square. The joke hit
close to home.
That didn't stop Emma from saying "it's Adam."
"Excuse me?"
Emma stared at Brennan, her gaze steady and piercing. "I'm with Adam."
"What?"
Emma took a deep breath and enunciated every word, carefully saying them slowly and
precisely, as if she were speaking to a very dim-witted child. "I. Am. With. Adam. Kane."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No I am not!" The words burst out of her in a roar that attracted a lot of attention. After
turning a shade of red two steps away from the color of most American fire engines, she
continued in more subdued tones. "Adam and I are together. We're a couple; we're lovers. Do
you understand or do I have to draw you pictures?"
For a moment, she thought she might. Brennan looked as if someone had just struck him
in the head with a steel beam. Emma had expected stunned shock. She had even, perhaps,
expected complete and total disbelief. It was what would come after, the story's end, that made
her heart race while her blood turned to ice water. How would Brennan react now that he
knew? He didn't seem to want to believe her. Was that because he thought she was kidding or
because the idea of she and Adam together horrified him? Emma didn't know and that, more
than anything else, frightened her. She couldn't judge his emotions because he was experiencing
just about every one in the spectrum of human sentiment.
After sitting silently in thought for a while, Brennan reached out and took his drink. He
gulped down every drop. If it was alcoholic, he didn't show any sign of suddenly getting drunk.
With the air of a man about to make a very important statement, he fixed his eyes on Emma, and
said very simply, "I knew it."
At that moment, Adam returned to the table. Brennan stared at him with thoughtful eyes,
perhaps seeing him for the first time, considering this man who had changed all their lives so
drastically. Emma stared at him too, her gaze flinty and a bit stern, as if he'd done something
wrong. She was angry, but more at herself for revealing their secret only to find out secrecy
wasn't even necessary. Adam looked from one to the other, taking in their expressions and
deciding he didn't have a clue what was going on now.
All he could do was mutter, "why do I have the feeling something just hit the fan?"
*************************************************************************
Devon Bowden sat behind the wheel of his car, sweltering in early afternoon heat. On the
seat beside him, propped up as if trying to imitate a person, rested the silenced pistol he would
use to murder Emma DeLauro. His instructions had been very specific. She was to die first, if
possible, and then Brennan Mulwray. Adam Kane was to be wounded rather than murdered.
Somehow, that seemed worse to Devon. How could a man so noble bare a survivor's guilt when
two of his best friends lay dead before him.
The pistol seemed to be mocking him for feeling sympathy for the man. Sunlight gleamed
on its casing, making it seem a jewel. A killing tool that was so much more than it appeared. To
his employer, this pistol was the answer to terrible questions. It was a solution. The weapon
would change the world and barely whisper as it did.
In a way, that was horrifying. The silent kill. The silence that would follow as hearts grew
still and souls drifted soundlessly to a heaven that could not be heard by the living to weep. The
quiet of a revenge so cold-blooded it made innocents into its swords.
"How did I let this happen? Katherine, how could I have been so blind?" Devon whispered
in the lonely, stagnant car interior. No one answered him. It didn't matter. He knew, in his heart,
what had made him foolishly trust another man with the most precious gift ever to come into his
life. "I thought he was a good person. I'm sorry, I just didn't realize."
The electronic display on the radio said that nearly an hour had passed since he'd left the
club, walked away from the last place Emma and Brennan were ever to see. Devon kept
picturing them sitting there with Adam to one side. His mind played memories in an ever more
jumbled montage. Scenes of stalking the Mutant X members, a clip from his wedding to
Katherine, taking the pistol in hand, kissing his wife awake, Adam and Emma sharing a loving
gaze, his own lover's eyes, Brennan laughing, Katherine laughing, the bastard who'd taken her
laughing.
Devon covered his face with his hands and ground his teeth hard, tasting the coppery
sweet tang of blood after a moment. He wanted desperately to wake up in bed, his beautiful wife
beside him, and learn that it was all a bad dream.
It couldn't be done. This nightmare had flesh and form; it was reality.
He was going to commit murder shortly. As soon as Mutant X came out of the club. First,
a single round would race through the air, barely making a sound. Like a child hushed under
covers while monsters roamed under bed and out of closets, the pistol would be silent but not
perfectly so. Emma would die. Devon was an excellent shot. Heart failing as a fragmenting
bullet tore it apart, her last thought would surely be about Adam. If she truly loved him, his name
would be a final utterance from her lips and his face a glimpse of paradise to come.
Next, as Adam desperately tried to shield her from another shot, Brennan would die before
he could use his electrical powers. It would take at least two seconds for him to form a coil of
lightening worthy of Tesla, longer if he was stunned by his friend's sudden death. Another shot.
Greater silence. The inaudible weeping of angels.
Finally, Adam would be wounded. Devon had been told to shoot him in the spine, as he
used his body to protect his fallen lover. Any mistake and he would die. If that happened,
Katherine would also perish. Whether the tears of divinity fell for this man or not, Devon knew
that if his wife was lost, it would mean he'd murdered two people and tried to permanently
paralyzed another for nothing.
"And not just them," he murmured as a trickle of sweat ran the length of his cheek, "but
everyone that loves them will be harmed. Anyone close to the rest of them will suffer as well.
Adam's friends and family, their friends and family. Emma's and Brennan's and so many more. I
won't just be murdering two people. I'll be slaying a city's worth of hopes and dreams and God
knows how much pain I'm to be the cause of." Devon felt a tightness in his chest. Back in the
club, he'd almost made himself believe it wasn't really happening.
No illusions existed now. Reality made no apologies. All the children of Eden had freewill
and many used it for pointless animal hatreds and lusts. Greed ravaged, vanity corrupted, while
depravity was common enough to go unnoticed by most everyone in Hollywood. When the
majority falls into decay, the moral minority falls with them.
Devon closed his eyes. He wanted a way out. He wanted to save Katherine without
committing murder. He wasn't a killer. Until two days ago, he'd believed in peace and that there
was kindness and decency in everyone.
He knew better now.
Some people were monsters hiding in the sheep's clothing of innocence. Beasts of the
abyss that could smile and pretend to love. Once, a man said that it was better for ten guilty men
to go free than for one to be falsely imprisoned. Devon doubted that man had ever considered
just how much damage those ten guilty would do while free. How many rapes or murders or
child molestations in a year? A month? A day even?
A shiver ran down Devon's spine despite the heat of the car. "I'm no better than any of
those people. I'm going to murder heros. All because some psychopath wants revenge. Can't go
to the police, can't even tell anyone what he looks like." He slammed a fist down on the
dashboard. "Can I really do this? Oh Katherine, I know you said not to, but I can't let you die.
I love you too much."
Beside him, the silencer equipped pistol beckoned like the ferryman. The time had come.
No thought nor prayer could prevent what he was about to do. Devon reached over, gripped his
partner in murder tightly, and left the car's frying pan warmth. Soon, he'd jump into the blazes of
hell itself. One shot. A second. Tears of a man who'd just lost more than anyone could be
expected to bear. The third and final shot to take even more from Adam Kane.
Devon tucked the weapon into his shirt. He reached into his back pocket and removed a
picture he always kept with him of Katherine. "I'm sorry baby. I can't let the bastard hurt you.
Better me than you. I just hope. . . that you can find it in your heart. . . to. . . to look at me when
its done." The words chocked him with emotion.
In his hand, the pistol was heavy. The weight of a fallen angel's heart, plummeting toward
abyss and oblivion. Devon returned his wife's image to his pocket. He no longer deserved to
look upon her beauty. He stepped forward.
The storm drew closer.
*************************************************************************
Watching Charlotte Cooke shake and whimper in pain was more enjoyable than Duncan
Ladd thought it should be. Savoring her suffering, he snickered. Far from being a savagely brutal
monster like Simon, he considered himself a connoisseur of torment, a master even. Years ago,
he'd served as a member of a covert intelligence gathering team, systematically developing ways
to extract information that were untraceable. He'd never left a mark, not a bruise or even a paper
cut. Constant repetition of certain musical pieces, ridiculous clothing, insults against a beloved
religion, they all eventually made men break. Duncan looked back on those days with mixed
amusement and regret that they'd been wasted on "non-violent" torture methods.
Since those days, he'd learned things the Nazi SS would have blanched at. His employer
had taught him a few special horrors.
Still, he found himself compelled by instinct to return the subdermal governor remote to his
coat pocket and retrieve Simon's pistol from his cooling corpse. His instincts were warning
him of something now, just as they'd whispered to him of the threat a live Simon would present
when the mission was over. Simon would have told their employer about Duncan's own
indulgences, his delight at every kill.
He could not allow anyone to know about his lust for death. If his employer knew the truth
behind it, he would not enjoy his last moments of life at all. To a degree, he regretted that he
couldn't trust Simon to be quiet. Though he knew it really didn't matter that he'd put a hole in
the man's head, it affected him. In his own way, Duncan had been fond of Simon. . . after a
fashion.
Instinct told him to get ready for an attack. He'd been told to expect Kilmartin to come at
his rear. He took a deep breath, felt it sooth his racing heart. This was what he lived for: the kill,
the thrill of fatality. Used to facing the likes of the GSA and untrained members of the Strand,
Duncan assumed Mutant X would strike boldly and predictably.
Behind him and at his feet, Charlotte was breathing very fast and shallow. Part of him
wanted to check to make sure she wasn't having a heart attack. 'Some trace of a conscience?'
he wondered ideally. 'Unlikely.' He used the sound of her gasps to measure time. Slowly, they
became deep and rhythmic. Duncan checked his watch while keeping one eye on the wall and
one weapon trained there as well. Charlotte no longer sounded as if she intended to die while
more than fifteen minutes had passed while he stood listening.
"Why hasn't Kilmartin attacked?" Duncan muttered as he neared the window once more.
His eyes fell upon the smoldering wreak of the Double Helix. From a distance, he saw nothing to
indicate that there had been survivors. "Perhaps I overestimated them."
He turned around. Charlotte shivered as he knelt close, pulling away from him and
whimpering.
"Oh don't be like that my dear. I have good news for you. It would appear that you were
right after all. I do believe that Mr. Kilmartin and Ms. Fox are, how to put this delicately. . ." A
dark grin formed on his lips. "I'll take a note from my departed colleague's style and be
completely indelicate." He leaned very close, so close in fact that he was breathing in Charlotte's
breath, drawing the scent of her hair into his nostrils. "They are dead. Completely, utterly, dead.
And its all your fault. Everything is your fault."
Charlotte tried to bury her face in the floor, but Duncan grabbed her chin and turned her
face to his once more. "They died because of you. You were our target. All those people we
killed, all for little, pathetic, you."
Tears streaming down her face, Charlotte let out a moan of anguish. Duncan started
laughing and rose. He took a step away from her, intending to admire his handiwork. Taking
that as a cue, she shoved herself upward on her hands, spun her body, and kicked him in the
crotch. Before Duncan was halfway to the floor, Charlotte slammed a foot into his head,
knocking him onto his back. In a blink, she was on her lethal toes, running for freedom and
salvation. All she had to do was make it out of the den and to the front door. Outside, she could
reach the garage and her car. Then she'd be safe.
A surge of electric pain filled her body. She let out a scream and collapsed, twisting and
jerking in agony. It felt as if someone had just poured molten lead into her veins. The sounds that
burst from her lips were equal parts curse and wordless animal noise.
Duncan towered over her a moment later, the back of one hand pressing against a deep
gash in his forehead while still holding a pistol. "You just don't know when to give up, do you?"
He wheezed angrily. "I swear, if it didn't mean my life, I'd kill you and make a month out of it!
Can you imagine what it would be like to slowly die from torture?" Seized by rage, Duncan
struck Charlotte across the face with the pistol, the blow making her head swirl sideways.
"I could kill you right now. The only reason I don't is because my employer will almost
certainly have a worse fate in mind for you."
He slipped the subdermal governor remote into his pocket and grabbed a fistful of her
dark and silken hair. Duncan yanked Charlotte to her feet, eliciting a gasp that made him smile
again. "It's time to go, bitch." He shoved her backwards so that she fell into a chair. He took
the remote back out of his pocket and held it up menacingly. Then, he gestured with the pistol.
"Get up."
Suddenly, Duncan felt a presence behind him. He spun around and there was Jesse
Kilmartin, caught in mid attack. The pistol barked harshly. A look of horrified surprise came into
the blond man's eyes. As he stumbled back, Duncan fired again. And again.
Jesse crumpled bonelessly after the fourth shot roared.
Duncan stared in astonishment. He nudged the body with his toe. It didn't seem to
respond. Cautiously, he leaned down and prodded again, this time employing the barrel of his
pistol against the fallen man's head. There was still no response.
"I killed him." Duncan whispered. It was difficult to believe. After everything he'd learned
about them, how could he put down a member of Mutant X so easily. "Not so tough, after all,
are you?" He rose to his feet again, glanced back and saw that Charlotte was too stunned to
make another escape attempt, and repeated his earlier gesture with the pistol, once more as calm
and businesslike as if he were in a store picking out a suit to wear.
"Get up Ms. Cooke, you've got an appointment to keep."
Slowly, Charlotte obeyed. She acted as if she'd just woken from a deep sleep. Part of
that was from the pain she'd endured in such a short time. The other came from the shock of
Jesse's death. Seeing him fall had taken the fight from her at last.
With Duncan behind, Charlotte walked where he ordered her. As they made their way
slowly through the safe house, she heard her captor's words hissing in a deep and black corner
of her mind. It was her fault. All of their deaths, the blood of friends and would-be saviors,
weighed upon her soul. If she'd been there when they first came, maybe she could have
prevented the massacre. Charlotte wished for a miracle.
Suddenly, from behind, she heard someone shout, "Shalimar now!" She spun around and
saw Jesse wrap his arms around Duncan, pinning his pistol hand before he could fire, making his
body super solid to make it impossible for the bastard to break his hold. In seconds, Shalimar
Fox was there as well, rushing through a nearby door, moving with a feline grace. She drove her
fist into Duncan's stomach, drew back and hit his face. After about seven such punches, he
collapsed at last.
Letting out a relieved sigh, and becoming his usual soft and hugable self again, Jesse rubbed
at his stomach, where Duncan had shot him. Charlotte saw no blood or holes. "I can't believe
that worked." He said quietly, turning to Shalimar. "I thought I was dead for sure."
"What the hell did you do? I heard shots." She replied, her eyes narrowing.
"I let the bastard shoot me. I've been practicing phasing just a portion of my body instead
of the whole thing. Figured it might come in handy. Wasn't sure I had a handle on it yet but I
guess I do." He looked down at Duncan's unconscious body. An expression of pure and
unbridled hatred and disgust formed on his face. He'd already seen this man's partner, so
obviously executed. He'd been told earlier by Charlotte what had happened to the people in the
safe house. Too many details haunted his mind. And now, as she stood so close to him, he saw
the bruise that was just starting to form on her face.
Her eyes were on him.
Without wasting another second, he reached down and bodily lifted Duncan. He turned
and marched toward the nearest window. Jesse took a deep breath and hurled the man through
it, shattering glass. He watched as Duncan hit the ground and sprung back to life, jumping to his
feet, turning toward the window. They shared a glare for an instant. Then Duncan was running
and, chest heaving, Jesse watched as the killer scrambled to escape.
Shalimar stared at Jesse, stunned by what she was seeing. "What in the name of everything
sane are you doing?"
Tears of relief springing to her face, thankful to be alive, Charlotte answered Shalimar's
question. "I don't know. But I like it."
Remarkably calm and controlled Jesse reached down and picked up one of Duncan's
pistols, the one he'd struck Charlotte in the face with. Slowly, focusing his mind, he raised the
weapon and peered down its barrel. He wasn't aiming for Duncan. The target was stationary.
His smile grew colder.
Jesse had his sights set on a proximity mine.
"Let's see how you like it." He whispered and pulled the trigger. An explosion followed,
a wave of force tossing Duncan sideways like a rag doll. Turning back to Shalimar and Charlotte,
his face softened at the sight of one's worried gaze and the other's tears. "Are you alright?" He
asked, taking Charlotte's hand in his and holding it tightly to his chest.
"Yeah. I am now." She was too happy about being saved to wonder why Jesse was
showing such concern for her or why he'd just acted with such vengeful anger. Somewhere in
the back of her mind, she thought back to how he'd quoted the words "go to a place where
sorrow knows no hold and angels tread in silence." How could he know them, the whispers in
the dark, how could he?
Shalimar left the two of them. She went to the window and glanced out. "He's gone."
Fatigue made her almost collapse right there. "That guy you tried to blow up, looks like he's got
nine lives."
Jesse glanced back, stared at her for a second in surprise, then smiled. "Good thing I've
got a cat woman with me to even the odds." He returned his attention to Charlotte, one hand
going to her wounded face, gently touching the purpling skin around her right eye. "And you,
wildcat, you look like you must have put up a great struggle."
Her eyes met his. Something changed in them. They seemed to become slightly lighter, as
if draining of the darker emotions and feelings. Her lips curled into a smile. "My father used to
call me that. Wildcat."
How many of her secrets did he know?
More importantly, why wasn't she upset that he knew them?
Charlotte's body chose that moment to collapse from the strain it had been under.
*************************************************************************
The mansion was a smoldering wreck, every stone melted and every board made ash.
Once verdant, cash green grass now lay in death the color of a vampire's lips, pale and dark at
the same time. Hundreds of trees still blazed all around, sending long pillars of smoke toward
heaven. Nearby, a mobile building that had housed Clark's security people was cooling down at
last, covered in soot and scorch marks. The forgotten dead within no more important to Kelly or
Gabriel than the mansions ruins.
Kneeling in a circle of flame, Tiffany Clark watched as her father was beaten. Each blow
that struck made her wince. Despite all of his failings, she loved him. However, after this day,
she had no respect left for him.
She despised the weakness he'd displayed before in the bedroom. Everything he'd done
since hiring Adam Kane had been idiocy on parade. Mistake after mistake, each one bringing
them closer to capture at the hand's of an insane freak and his psycho whore girlfriend. Tiffany
felt like screaming, but she held back. She'd been told to be silent or else. Though disgust and
love warred in her heart, she wasn't yet sure which was stronger.
Gabriel had no trouble deciding how he felt about the man.
"Doc, you're starting to try my patience. I thought we had a deal."
Although it would have been immense fun to snap Clark's neck, break his spine over one
knee, or otherwise kill the Nazi bastard, Gabriel restrained himself. He was proud of himself for
that. Restraint wasn't a word typically in his vocabulary.
"Tell me what I want to know and I'll go away. Simple. I've destroyed your research,"
Gabriel failed to mention that before allowing Kelly to torch the mansion he'd had her copy it all
to disk. "Now, you can earn survival by saving my life. I'm going to take you to a hospital and
you're going to put together a little booster shot for me. You see, I've got this problem. My
powers are so incredible, this puny mortal coil I wear isn't strong enough to endure them." He
smiled, an expression so charismatic, so disarming, that even a beaten and broken Clark
responded to it. "If you help me, I promise to set you and your lovely daughter free."
Lying on the ground, barely able to sit up, Clark turned to look at his daughter. She was
not far from him, Kelly Rice standing guard over her. When he let himself look at the blonde, he
muttered "Series I," and then almost passed out. Recovering just as he started to fall backwards,
Clark faced Gabriel again. "Alright," he said slowly, grimacing in self loathing and race righteous
rage. "I'll help you."
Tiffany was on her feet in an instant. "You idiot! Do you really expect him to let us go?
He'll kill you the moment you're done!"
Chuckling, Gabriel came close and leaned toward her, reaching out to touch her long
black hair, like flowing strands of midnight anguish. He pressed a finger against his lips and made
a shushing noise. "Quiet dear girl. Can't you tell the adults are talking grownup words? You
don't worry. Everything's going to be fine."
When he wanted, Gabriel could sound more charming than a prince. Through a veil of
hatred, she responded to the soft warmth, the chocolate wonder of his words as they gently
caressed her mind. Slowly, Tiffany grew calm. She even found herself attracted to Gabriel,
wanting to run young and inexperienced fingers through his hair.
"Better." He turned to Kelly. "Why don't you take her for a walk or something while I
haul Dr. Mengele. Be back from the local hospital soon."
With a nod and a knowing smile, for she understood exactly what Gabriel meant by "take
her for a walk," Kelly waved her hand to extinguish the fire circle. She let the girl stand on her
own. No point in helping. Not when she would be dead soon. "Come on kid. Let's wander the
grounds. What's left of them."
Behind her, Gabriel grabbed Clark and started marching him toward the Strand's jet.
They'd acquired it only a short time ago as an antidote to Mutant X's Double Helix. As she
walked, she listened as the engines warmed. She listened as the jet rose steadily into the air.
Finally, her ears followed its movement briefly, as it roared away toward town and a hospital,
where Gabriel could force his salvation from Clark.
Kelly paid the jet too much attention. From the moment she'd risen from the ground,
Tiffany had been carefully and covertly reaching into her dress. The .357 had been difficult to
keep secure, let alone hidden, but the girl had managed. She was her father's daughter, but it
was her mother who'd taught her how to fight and how to secrete weapons in ordinary clothing.
Though she hadn't been much for hugs or kisses, Lydia Jensen Clark had been a staunch
advocate for women's self-defense training.
The revolver was heavier than Tiffany was used to. When she spun around and fired it,
her hands went numb from the recoil. It fell from her hands but that wasn't important. Breathing
hard, rubbing her fingers against her side, she was both satisfied and sickened at the sight of Kelly
lying on the ground, a pool of blood slowly forming around her head. Tiffany turned away and
started running.
Had she been calmer, she would have realized that a blow to the head from a magnum
bullet should have left her enemy's skull a pulverized mess. Instead of killing her, Tiffany had
only grazed Kelly's right temple. Like any scalp wound, this one bled profusely but not
dangerously. There had been sufficient force for a knockout, but for how long?
Unaware that she would soon be in danger again, Tiffany headed for a building that lay at
the very edge of her father's estate. Miraculously, it had been left untouched, likely mistaken for
servant's quarters. Beneath a false log cabin facade lay six inches of hardened steel, an airtight
chamber with more than a year's worth of basic supplies, and the best communications
equipment money could buy. The fact that she and her father had not been waiting there when
the attack came was another foolish error on the elder Clark's head.
"One more reason to not follow in his footsteps." She muttered as she pulled open the
door and rapidly entered a pass code on a hidden keypad next to the interior door. Soon, she
was inside, feeling confident though slightly nauseated at having shot someone.
She went straight to the computer and activated a wall-sized screen. It hummed blankly
for a moment as a satellite moved in orbit, aiming downward to point at a place far more secret
than the cabin. Tiffany waited, knowing it would take a long time for the computer she was
contacting to decide the line was safe. The man she was contacting took no chances.
Suddenly, he appeared on the screen.
Stiffening to attention, as her father had taught her, she bowed her head slightly to him,
hoping he wouldn't cut the transmission immediately. "Mr. Sheckt, I'm calling from my father's
panic room. There has been an incident at the estate. Ashlocke has my father and is heading to
the nearest hospital." She paused. On screen, Sheckt was smiling. "Sir, I need help. There may
be additional Strand operatives in the area."
The man started laughing.
Tiffany got a sinking feeling. "Mr. Sheckt, my father is loyal. You have to help him. You
have to save me!"
The screen went blank.
Sheckt's laughter rang in her ears like dark thunder rolling on the fire plains of hell. She
tried to reconnect with Sheckt's central computer, but Tiffany was blocked immediately. Her
only other hope was the dedicated main line.
When she tried it, there was only a static hiss. Her father had never connected it.
Fifteen minutes later, Kelly woke up and figured out where Tiffany had gone.
A half hour passed before she'd reduced the panic room to molten slag.
*************************************************************************
Well fortified with a shot of something so potently alcoholic Brennan was amazed his breath
didn't ignite, he sat in perfect calm. His eyes traversed between Adam and Emm, resting on each
for a brief respite, before settling on Adam. A congratulatory grin formed on his face. With great
solemnity, Brennan said "I knew it," tapping the table at each word for emphasis. "The two of
you couldn't have been more obvious."
Emma bristled at that. "Excuse me, we were very discreet."
"Right. You both started going into town whenever the rest of us got busy." He held up
his right hand and started counting off with his fingers. "At every meal, you sit beside each other,
barely communicating with the rest of us. The two of you have been going around Sanctuary the
last two weeks bursting into spontaneous grins at the sight of each other. Frankly, I'm amazed
I'm the only one who figured it out, even if I didn't believe it. Heck, I can't believe I managed to
delude myself into thinking I was imagining the whole thing."
Brennan started to take a sip of his drink but thought better of it. The amber fluid was a
bit too strong for his tastes. "You also speak in stereo lately." He added in lieu of drinking.
"We do not!" Adam said at exactly the same time Emma came out with, "we do not!"
They looked at each other for a moment then turned matching shades of red while their
teammate chuckled victoriously. "Okay, we do." Again, they spoke in unplanned, unintended,
but perfect unison, which made Brennan laugh even harder.
After a few seconds, he got quiet. "So. . . how exactly did this happen? I'm guessing it has
something to do with your visit to the 'age of Eckhart' but there's a lot more to this, isn't there?"
His expression was subdued. When he spoke, his voice was respectful and deeply curious.
"How did you two hook up? Give me some details."
Adam turned toward Emma. She nodded ever so slightly, granting him the privilege of
telling the whole story. Rapidly, Brennan got to hear a few of the things they'd left out before.
Word by word, a picture formed. At the end, Adam said simply, "being trapped in the dark
future forced us to come to terms with our mutual affections. We finally confronted our hearts."
He reached out and Emma took his hand in her own, a bond of love. "I'm glad you know and
that you're not bothered by the truth."
Nodding thoughtfully, Brennan said "you two deserve to be happy. If you're happiest with
each other, who am I to say anything?"
"I don't believe it, he's being sensible."
Adam laughed and stood up. "Emma, I think we should leave before he sobers up."
"Oh, now who's trying to be funny. And the operative word is trying. Leave the jokes to
the master, okay? Or my apprentice Jesse." Brennan was on his feet in a flash, moving easily.
He hadn't had enough alcohol to either impair his judgement or unsettle his feet. In fact, as a new
song started playing over the club's speaker system, he went into a one-man dance routine that
won him a standing ovation from Emma, who was now, once more and for always, at Adam's
side.
The trio headed for the front door, laughing and talking as true friends. Feeling giddy with
freedom, their secret finally revealed, Emma planted a kiss on Adam that almost made him pass
out. A young couple who saw them whistled, which made both blush while Brennan started to
open the door for them.
"I can't wait to see everyone's expressions back at Sanctuary when you two do that.
Jesse's going to freak and Shalimar's going to have kittens." He suddenly stopped, the door half
open. "I'd better not let her know I said that."
"No, what you'd better do is move it or lose it!" Emma said as she scooted past him and
threw open the door, taking a deep breath of fresh afternoon air and blinking as bright sunlight
poured down on her. She was the first to step outside. Her foot came down on an abandoned
scrap of paper, making a crackling noise. A gentle breeze rose and carried the scent of fresh
flowers from an open air market down the road. Emma's smile was wide and warm.
On her second step, it froze. She felt the man's emotions before she saw him, black skin a
deeper shade than unaltered coffee with a face like an angel's own. A heart beat passed, maybe
two, before he raised a formidable pistol. The silencer's barrel seemed as long and deep as the
express subway tunnel to hell. Behind her, Emma heard the others freeze in place, felt Adam's
hand on her shoulder, already starting to force her out of harm's way. The man, his green eyes
terribly sad yet filled with determined conviction, began to draw the trigger toward him. Another
beat of Emma's heart passed as he aimed at her. She could feel his mind and his emotions spoke
clearly to her.
In the language of feeling, the man said "forgive me. I have no other choice."
A hiss cleaved the air. There was a ping of metal as a large steel casing fell to the ground,
the only tear of a machine's heart. The rest was pure silence. No words, just quiet stillness. A
faint breeze. An edge of harsh redolence, seared powder, added tang. One moment in time, one
shot through the heart of peace.
The storm had come.
Mutant X would never be the same.
*****************************END OF PART THREE*************************
Rescues And Reprisals
"Finished." Dr. David Clark smiled as he saved his work. In less than two hours, he'd
reconstructed the research database for Schrader's Folly, with far fewer holes than seemed
possible. Though he hated them on principle, he couldn't fault Adam Kane's pack of bipedal lab
rats for doing a poor job. They'd retrieved most of his disks and the samples of Series III, the
latest and most potent form of the poison gas. The smile Clark wore turned dark and grew fangs.
"I can't fault them for failure, but they exist. That's more than enough for me."
A sound from behind made him turn. One of the new security men, the overall commander
by the cut and markings on his uniform, stood just outside the office doorway. "Sir, we've
completed our first perimeter sweep. I felt I should tell you that we need more men. Your estate
is. . . larger than we anticipated."
The brief hesitation in the guard's voice made Clark smirk. "You were expecting a pathetic
hovel on a broken land. You found grandeur instead."
Uncertain how to answer such a statement, the commander merely shrugged.
"Is there anything else?"
Seeming uncomfortable, the man cleared his throat and carefully considered how best to
phrase his request. For reasons he couldn't quite pin down, Clark made the commander
nervous. He'd been told by his superiors that a previous security force had failed in fully
protecting this arrogant scientist. They'd told him that failure would result in more than the usual
penalties. This man was too important to lose.
The commander thought the story about another security unit a load of manure. His people
were well-trained and armed with enough hardware to start World War III. To even conceive
of another team with talent and tools to match his force was to imagine boogeymen that couldn't
exist.
Regardless of his incredulity about his predecessors, the commander had been given strict
orders about how to deal with Dr. Clark and the lovely Tiffany. They were to be handled with
kid gloves, every nicety observed. He had to be respectful and professional, as if guarding the
President rather than a simple scientist and his daughter. That meant asking only the barest
minimum of questions and not upsetting Clark.
The commander hoped he was being properly respectful as he carefully laid out the problem
he was faced with.
"We need more men. Can't patrol these grounds with just ten. We could use a few more in
the control center too." By the way he spoke, he didn't expect his employer to grant him leave to
call in more men. Every additional man cost between four and six thousand a day. They were
elite, armed, and very tough. The best security firm in the city; they were one of the top five in
the world.
Clark surprised the man by saying "whatever you need, get it. Cost is unimportant." He
relished the astonished expression on the commander's face, that shocked and awed look of a
soul immersed in hell given a glimpse of heaven. Bewildered but extremely pleased, acting very
much like Tiffany Clark on her birthday, the man left.
Thinking about his daughter brought the attack on the warehouse lab to the forefront of
Dr. Clark's brain. He thought about what she'd told him, about using a syringe filled with a liquid
concentrate of Schrader's Folly. Though he hated to think about it, he knew she'd used one of
the previous, flawed incarnations of the poison rather than the perfected Series III.
Clark wished he could simply write off her claims as a child's ignorant prattle.
After all, Tiffany wasn't absolutely reliable. She could have been mistaken about using a
syringe filled with crimson death. Many different substances were kept at arm's reach in his
warehouse office prior to the fire so there was a slight chance she was wrong.
He trusted her to be infallible, though, due to her aversion to punishment. If there was
one thing in all the world that could be relied upon, it was that he would make her suffer for any
foolish error. In the eyes of Dr. Clark, and to his way of thinking those of any loving father, a
mistake was as good as a lie. After her last lie had been paid for with three broken ribs and a
concussion, it didn't seem likely Tiffany would say anything she wasn't completely certain of.
Another lie would carry that same price. With interest.
A deep frown further darkened his expression. In the austere surroundings of his home
office, blank walls of neutral cream and thick carpeted floors of gun metal grey, he considered
the ramifications of his daughter's revelation. The first two series of Schrader's Folly he'd
created were flawed. The first success, Series I, worked as a catalyst for mutation, causing an
acceleration of the unnatural corruption of humanity. Powers could swell out of control during
this process, which might or might not cause the mutant's death. Clark despised Series I and had
kept only a few samples of it in his warehouse office, purely for testing purposes.
He considered Series I a success only because it affected so-called "new mutants"
exclusively. It was flawed, but it was also a stepping stone.
"I hope that wasn't what Tiffany found. I'd hate to think my work helped a freak get
stronger." Dr. Clark rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. He'd been working nonstop at
top speed, carefully piecing together gaseous death in all its glory and grace. Every muscle in his
body yearned for a break. "No rest for the righteous." He muttered, paraphrasing a quote that
had come to cliché.
The original version, rather than his rendering, would have been more accurate.
Mind wandering to Series II, Clark found some measure of hope. His second attempt had
been far more effective. Although it caused a temporary increase in mutation, this was merely a
prelude to the useful elements of the gas. Lingering in the bloodstream, Series II created slow
and steady decline in cellular function by damaging genetic code within human mitochondria. The
resulting loss of ATP energy eventually caused death in a mutant.
"Not quite perfect, but useful in its own ways. Certainly worth keeping around for fun and
games if nothing else."
Clark kept many samples of Series II for torture purposes and as a control method,
something to use on the few mutants that would serve as tools during the purging of their filth.
Once they'd served their purpose, Series III, the latest and most successful gas type, could be
used to finish them or they could simply be allowed to waste away, spending their last days
dwelling on their betrayal of fellow mutants while working in camps. This was likely what Tiffany
had injected the freak bitch with.
The potential to better the world that lay in his work made him almost weep with pride. So
much death and despair waiting to happen, yearning for birth, and all Dr. Clark had to do was
deliver the gas to the government.
Easy as murder.
"This is turning into a rather good day."
As he said the words, an alarm began to scream. In an instant, he heard gunfire and people
yelling. Clark rose from his chair in a rush, banging his knee on the desk. "Tiffany!" He called
as he raced toward the office door. Even before he got there, she came in, slamming the door
behind her. "Come here. Are you hurt?" Without waiting for her obedience or an answer, Clark
pulled his daughter to him and with a army medic's thoroughness checked for injuries. Satisfied
that she wasn't hurt, he turned toward his bedroom. "This way. I have a gun."
Tiffany followed, but hesitantly. "I don't think they care father."
Ignoring her, Clark shoved a dresser across the door frame, sealing them in. Inside the top
drawer lay a .357 revolver, loaded with magnum bullets. He had no extra ammunition. He'd
never expected to be attacked, not really.
Outside, people were shouting. At first, the Clarks thought they were raining curses down
on their enemies. Then one of the security guards started slamming his fists against the bedroom
door. So close, they could easily make out his screams. "Oh God! Please, God, let me in! God,
oh God, oh sweet Jesus let me in! They're not human! Let me in! I don't want to die! Please, no,
no! No! Stay away!"
The last cry was one of such anguish, even Dr. Clark started to cry. A stench crept in with
startling alacrity, snapping at their nasal passages with merciless evil. Burning flesh, boiling blood.
Fire feasting on its creator, on man. Worse, a set of calm footsteps. Steady as a heart beat in
hades, quiet as Death's silken shroud passing over the earth.
A voice spoke. "You have two options Dr. Clark. You can move whatever barricade
you've thrown up and come out peacefully, do me a favor, and get to live. Otherwise, I'll just
have to let my friend Kelly toast this place with you in it. Either way, I win."
For a moment, the revolver seemed a third option. Two shots, one for Tiffany and one for
himself. It had worked for Hitler and Braun. Only when he glanced at his frightened daughter's
face did he realize he could not follow the example of his hero. Dr. Clark sighed. He laid the
weapon down and cleared the doorway. As he slid the dresser away, the door was blown off
it's hinges by a blast of energy.
Striding forward with all the confidence of God, Gabriel Ashlocke entered the bedroom.
In one hand was the flag that had hung above the doorway. He regarded it for a moment before
tossing it to a young blonde woman with beautiful features and eerily serene eyes. She caught it
in several senses of the word, for it flared the moment her flesh contacted the heartless cloth.
Kelly, for Clark knew that this woman must be his fire Elemental servant, held it until the flames
had devoured every stitch. The flag was gone in seconds and she was completely unharmed.
"Time to go doc." Gabriel grabbed him and dragged him from the room.
Kelly took hold of Tiffany, who did not struggle now, but walked with her captor as the
four left the bedroom. Clark glanced back to the place where he'd laid down his revolver,
wondering if it was truly too late for a swift end. His eyes fixed on an empty space even as
Gabriel backhanded his head and ordered him to face forward.
The .357 was gone.
************************************************************************
The only thing that saved Jesse Kilmartin's life was pure coincidence. He'd leapt blindly,
haphazardly even, from the wreckage of the Double Helix. As he ran for the safe house, its title
laughingly playing in his mind as the most ironic of nomenclature, his foot caught in a rut in the
ground. Whether it had been made by rain water or an animal, Jesse could never know, but it
saved his life. He struck the earth hard and felt the wind rush from his lungs. A few seconds
passed before his groans signaled a willingness to get up.
When he opened his eyes, which had clenched on impact, he saw an almost invisible metal
filament rising from a shallow hole in the earth. It was only two meters away. Jesse felt his heart
first skip a beat then rattle like automatic rifle fire.
"Proximity mines. Any closer and. . . ."
Jesse wondered if he would have survived a third explosion of the day.
He doubted it.
"You okay?" Shalimar called out behind him, her exit from the Helix far more careful and
calm. With every movement, she seemed to regain a bit of vitality and awareness of her
surroundings that had been lacking in the immediate moments after the crash. She focused on
him with singularly intent eyes. "What happened?"
"I tripped. Good thing too, because I was about to blow myself to bits. Someone set
proximity mines. They're probably all over the place, so watch your step."
"Thanks for the advice." She dropped from the wreak and into a crouch, her Feral instincts
preparing her for a fight.
Another scream split the calm air. "Charlotte." Jesse whispered, his mind racing. He
scrambled to his feet and, in a blind need to get to the safe house before it was too late, almost
started running forward again. Only his training and instincts kept him from doing anything so
suicidal. Cursing under his breath, Jesse surveyed the area, trying to see the nearly invisible and
utterly deadly mines. He couldn't.
The safe house was not far from them. No more than forty meters. The length of a short
walk, a quick jaunt, not even a decent clip. So tantalizingly close and yet, so very far away. One
false move and he or Shalimar would be blown apart by a mine. Jesse saw that, saw it and hated
it. Charlotte was in trouble. He had to reach her.
How? How to do so quickly and survive? He couldn't run while phased and if he tried to
running while massed out. . . well, it would be an interesting fireworks display at the least. Mind
racing, he tried to think and found himself fixating on the mines.
Suddenly, Shalimar was at his side. "We have to get in there."
Beside her, Jesse nodded. "Charlotte needs me." He shook his head harshly at that and
corrected himself. "Charlotte needs us, I mean."
If he thought his oddly possessive and protective tones had gone unnoticed by the stately
blonde at his side, Jesse was bordering on delusional. Then again, perhaps he simply assumed,
unknowingly, the same things Adam and Emma had been thinking when they sought to conceal
their affections. That, if they didn't tell anyone anything specific, no one would put together clues
and draw their own conclusions. Perhaps that was what Jesse thought. If he left the truth
unspoken, it would remain unnoticed, right?
"Looks like Emma's not the only one with a new love." Shalimar said offhandedly.
"I haven't seen or spoken to her since she spent ten minutes apologizing to all of us after
turning Adam into a lethal weapon." He replied. That had the dual benefits of being true and
vague at the same time. Fortunately, Shalimar did not press it. Jesse breathed a sigh of relief.
His thoughts were locked on Charlotte. Ever since he'd told Shalimar what had happened, a
lump had been forming in the pit of his belly. A dread certainty had descended on him that they
were too late. "We've got to save her." He whispered harshly.
Shalimar's hand brushed against his. "We will. I think I can get us across this mine field."
Her enhanced senses sniffed the air for the tang of explosives. "I can't smell them." She grunted,
annoyed with herself. Then, she smiled. "But I can see them. If we stay far enough away, they
won't explode. Hopefully."
Her keen eyes noted tiny holes in the ground, about seven of them, all around the field
they'd landed in. "Stick to me. Step where I step." She didn't look back to see if Jesse was
listening, she assumed he was smart enough to trust her. Intensely focused, Shalimar moved
carefully through paths in the mine field. She tread with care. Whomever had set up the
proximity mines had fearlessly clumped them so close that only a very thin, maze-like passage
remained between them.
Jesse was there when they reached the safe house, which was seeming more ironically
named by the second, so she assumed he'd shadowed her perfectly. Looking left and right,
Shalimar saw no more surprises. Her ears picked up on extremely muffled sounds, struggling and
crying. Considering what Jesse had told her, that was enough to make her eyes glow yellow and
her hands reflexively curl like cat's claws. She felt like real claws should have been sliding out
from the delicate skin of her fingers.
For a brief instant, she wondered if one day they would. How far would her Feral mutation
go before it finally reached its apex?
"How do we do this?" She asked, turning to Jesse. No matter how detailed his description
of the events Charlotte had informed him of, it was still thirdhand. With every passing moment,
it became less useful to them or Charlotte. Shalimar knew she wasn't as good at developing
strategies as he was. Plus, Jesse knew more about the safe houses. Several of the newer ones
were his designs.
For a moment, he considered the building, eyes checking each point of entry, mind
calculating their chances of success. Though he wasn't as good at doing math in his head as
Adam, Jesse wasn't stupid. He realized in an instant that any direct attack would fail. An enemy
that knew where they'd land would know how they'd attack.
Then an idea came to him. A mad one, pure insanity, but it was also the only thing he could
come up with that wouldn't get everyone killed. Jesse turned and looked his friend and
teammate in the eyes, staring for some time before speaking.
If his plan worked, he'd see her again. If it failed, he wouldn't be around to care.
"Well?" She asked as the silence drew too long to leave unchallenged. Precious seconds
were passing with nothing being done. In this moment, Shalimar realized that she was almost as
desperate as Jesse to save Charlotte, though for far different reasons. The horrors that had
already happened weighed on her soul. She would save her one time enemy because to fail her
would be to condemn another life to depravity and death.
A great price had already been paid in blood. She wanted justice, the debt of suffering paid
back by the guilty.
Jesse was too deeply occupied with own personal feelings to dwell on profound moral
notions. Open concern for Charlotte was only part of what he felt. Two weeks after Emma
handed him the book Hope and unknowingly the letter within, it was driving him to a desperate
and potentially fatal action.
He took a deep breath, maybe his last.
"Shalimar, wait here. I've got a plan but if it's going to work, I have to go it alone."
*************************************************************************
"I wonder why no one's called to check on us." Brennan muttered more to himself than his
teammates. "We've been gone for awhile. Coming up on two hours, right? So, why hasn't
anyone come on the comlinks and asked what we're up to?"
Beside him, Adam sipped at a fresh cup of steaming coffee and said "Jesse and Shalimar
are too busy planning their wedding to bother."
"Excuse me for worrying Mr. Coffee Hot."
"Can you two relax and act like the gentlemen you're supposed to be? This verbal judo
match was funny for a few minutes but it's starting to get old. Besides, Shal would never marry
Jesse." On the other side of Brennan, Emma stretched as she spoke. She'd been sitting for too
long. She wanted to get up and dance with Adam. After two weeks of keeping their relationship
a secret, the limits of her endurance had been reached. It was all she could do to keep her tongue
from blabbing out the secret, that she, Emma DeLauro, had fallen completely in love with Adam
Kane and desperately wanted to feel his arms around her as they made the dance floor sizzle.
Unwilling to break the vow of secrecy she'd made with Adam, Emma vented her frustrations
by saying "trust me, Shalimar and Jesse will never hook up. She's only got eyes for dark and
tragic men." Her eyes fell on Brennan. "You want to hold on to her, I suggest you start faking a
really nasty fatal illness."
"You're worse than him." Brennan grumbled as he stood up. "Let me out. I'm getting
another drink. Something strong this time. Something to make it easier to be around you two.
Like arsenic."
Emma swatted him as he headed for the bar, which had the duel of effect of making Brennan
jump a little and throw a grin over his shoulder.
With their teammate's back to them, Adam turned toward her, a gentle smile on his lips.
Eyes only for her, admiring her for a moment that he wished might last an eternity, he thought
'I'm so very, very lucky.'
Surprising Emma with a sudden show of a affection, he reached out and let his fingers gently
trace her facial lines. He paused at the underside of her chin to stroke the sensitive skin, eliciting
an almost feline purr of enjoyment. She leaned forward slightly, let his fingertips tickle her lips.
Softly, Adam said "while he's gone, we could sneak out. We could go someplace together. We
could be alone. We could talk."
"I'll bet I can guess what you'd like to 'talk' about." Emma said with a wink and bent
forward to whisper seductively in his ear.
Adam's face turned red as she spoke. When she was finished, he was flustered and more
than a little uncomfortable. "That's no way for a lady to talk." Grinning boyishly, he added
immediately "but I certainly admire your imagination."
Emma eyed him with a gaze that made it hard for him to breath. "Imagination nothing! That
was me predicting the future. Next real chance we get, everything I just told you will happen." A
coquettish leer on her face, she licked her lips. "Repeatedly." Emma started laughing when a
look of obvious anticipation formed on Adam's face, as if he'd regressed back into a teenager.
Shaking her head, she said "and I don't know if anyone's let you in on this or not, but I'm about
as far from being a lady as a woman can get."
"Don't underestimate yourself Emma. You're as elegant and refined as any other woman
I've ever known." At her raised eyebrow, he appended "when you want to be."
"Not to ruin the mood, or make you think I don't appreciate the flattery, but Brennan did
ask a good question earlier. Took a minute for my brain to realize it, but he has a point. You've
taught us to check in with each other fairly often. Jesse or Shalimar should have called us by now,
don't you think?"
"I suppose so." He glanced down at his watch, eyes narrowing in consideration. "Yes,
they should have called by now. Then again, they're probably resting. They came closer to dying
than we did."
Before she could even start to reply, Brennan returned with two glasses in hand.
"I noticed you were running low. Thought I'd be a gentleman and get you a fresh one." He
handed Emma a glass made frosty with cold; a delicious strawberry daiquiri for her drinking
pleasure. She beamed at him, touched by the thoughtful gesture. He waved a hand. "No need
to thank me, just drink and enjoy." As he spoke, he didn't return to his place between his two
teammates. Instead, he more or less sat down across from them, stretching out so that he was
half lying on the seat.
At that moment, Emma could have kissed him.
"So, what were you saying behind my back this time?"
"We weren't gossiping, Brennan. Adam was just saying that he thought Shalimar and Jesse
were probably resting and that's why they haven't called us." She sipped her new drink and
licked her lips. "Thanks. I was getting a bit thirsty again."
Brennan just nodded. "Speaking of the battle, mind if I ask a question?" When no one
objected, though Adam sighed with resignation, he continued. "What exactly was Ashlocke
after? I know that jerk Clark was working on a bunch of experimental medicines in his
warehouse. Be kind of hard not to know that, considering it was plastered over the front
entrance, 'Clark Experimental Medicine Warehouse,' how much more obvious could you get?
Still, I'd like to know what kind of wonder drug he was after. Knowing might help us to figure out
where his people are likely to strike next."
For a moment, Adam stared at Brennan. There were times he thought the man lacked even
an inkling of strategic thought. His tendency to go off haphazardly, "wing it" as he had put it once,
seemed to support such an analysis. Where Brennan was concerned, Adam had learned, there
were always surprises.
"I can't tell either of you much about Dr. Clark's research. What I know came from one of
my contacts in the government and not all of it is useful. Most of his early work involved
unleashing hidden potential in the human brain. His wife used to partner with him on projects but
they divorced four years ago. I mention this because, following the divorce, his work and his
reports became erratic and sometimes disturbing. My contact didn't elaborate on how they were
disturbing, except to say they 'reeked of hatred.' The wife's overseas now, working with a
company called Trinity Inc."
He stopped and sighed. "That's what I know. Not very useful, is it?"
"More than I knew." Brennan said as he sipped his new drink. "Think Gabriel was after
something other than medicine? Maybe Clark's gone looney tunes and created some kind of
weapon."
"The way he was hissing at us, that wouldn't surprise me at all." Speaking frankly, Emma
continued. "The hit I got off his daughter was pretty bad. What I felt from him was something
else. He hates mutants with a fanatical passion. The way he was looking at you Adam, it scared
me. I got an image from his mind. He wanted to kill you as painfully as possible."
She shivered and regarded him with soft eyes, her smile faint but so deliciously concerned
that he wanted to kiss her right then, secrecy be damned. Adam held back by force of will.
"Well, at least we don't have to deal with the Clarks again. We can't guard them if they
don't want to be guarded. Normally, I'd stay on, covertly of course, but not now. Dr. Clark,
whether a target of Gabriel's or not, is too likely to use his own security people against us if we
try and save him." Adam took a long pull on his coffee. "And on that cheery note, I'm heading
for the bathroom."
"Thanks for the memo."
"Brennan, you can be replaced."
With a sigh, Emma shook her head. "No, Adam, I don't think we could possibly find
someone else so annoying." Ignoring Brennan's snort of exasperation, she watched Adam
walking away. "Hurry back. I'm afraid of what I might do in your absence." He favored her
with a grave nod before leaving, cutting across the dance floor on his way. She watched him
walk, the way his body moved so sensually and confidantly, still so incredibly spry at his age.
Emma felt a longing deep inside.
'Why can't I go more than a minute without wanting him?' She thought as her eyes followed
his movements all the way to the restroom door. 'Every day, I wake up thinking the dream will
be over. Today he'll realize that being with me is a mistake. Today he'll break my heart.' Emma
touched her chest, her fingers just over that very place. 'Every day, I still have him, still want him,
and still love him. How did I get so lucky?'
Brennan's voice broke into her thoughts with the force of a headsman's ax. "What do you
mean? Lucky how?"
Spinning around so fast she almost knocked her drink over, Emma faced Brennan. She
hadn't realized she'd said her last thought out loud. What else had come from her mouth? "I'm
sorry, I was thinking."
"Yeah. Staring at Adam too. Should I start calling you 'teacher's pet' or what?"
In that instant, having already decided the secret had been secret long enough, having spent
every second wishing she and Adam could dance and kiss and just be affectionate without
worrying about what Brennan might think, Emma felt her resolve snap. In a momentary lapse in
judgement, an error that might have been avoided if Adam hadn't left the table, leaving her alone
with Brennan, she opened her mouth to tell everything.
Before she could utter a word, he said "no, don't say it. You're lucky the old man finally
left you alone with me, right? You're helplessly, hopelessly, and very breathlessly in love and
you've just got to tell it to the world." Without having a clue that he was striking the proverbial
nail's head into oblivion, at least when it came to her being in love, Brennan chuckled. Before this
moment, a thin thread of sanity had prevented Emma from speaking.
She needed Adam's comforting presence, his gentle eyes to gaze into and the softness of
his lips to desire, to maintain that thread. Alone with her teammate, she could no longer hold
back. She could feel her heart pounding as it screamed and pleaded for her to reveal the secret.
The team would either accept them or not. She couldn't know how they'd react. Only in a
baring of souls could Emma hope to discover her teammates' approval.
More than with any of the others, she'd been fighting the instinct to lay it all out to Brennan.
He was her closest confidant before she'd grown so close to Shalimar, the first ally she'd known
when the GSA came to collect her. Now, Emma's heart begged for action, pleaded for her to do
what her head and common sense railed against.
Brennan, unaware of the tension he was causing, the temptation he was forcing upon her,
leaned closer to Emma. "We really need to find you a date. You're starting to stare at our leader
like he's a big juicy steak and you're a hungry leopard." A snort that resembled a chuckle burst
from his lips. "That would be funnier if you were Shalimar or at least more ironic."
Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
No more secrets.
"I already have someone in my life. Someone amazing. He's handsome, gentle, and the
sweetest and most loving man I've ever been with. I'm already in love with someone who's
perfect." She spoke so calmly and with such conviction, she couldn't believe the words were
coming from her own lips. Inside, her heart was thundering and her stomach was slithering
around as if it were filled with live serpents. Cold sweat covered every millimeter of flesh.
The truth was about to set her free, but at what price? Would her friend turn away from
her and Adam, condemn their love? Emma didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted to find
out, but it was too late to turn back. Maybe she could have blanked Brennan's mind, forced
away all traces of the words she had just spoken. For whatever reason, in this moment, she was
willing to trust in him.
Blinking in surprise, Brennan happily clapped his hands. "Really? You're with someone?
Hey, congrats! Why didn't you tell me before?" He shook a finger at her, as she were a naughty
child. "Shalimar thought there something going on with you, but I figured you would have said
something about a new love in your life by now. Considering the team's track record with
significant others, we might have to have a funeral for Mr. Perfect. Or maybe a hanging." He
laughed but it was, in light of the facts, very much a case of kidding on the square. The joke hit
close to home.
That didn't stop Emma from saying "it's Adam."
"Excuse me?"
Emma stared at Brennan, her gaze steady and piercing. "I'm with Adam."
"What?"
Emma took a deep breath and enunciated every word, carefully saying them slowly and
precisely, as if she were speaking to a very dim-witted child. "I. Am. With. Adam. Kane."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No I am not!" The words burst out of her in a roar that attracted a lot of attention. After
turning a shade of red two steps away from the color of most American fire engines, she
continued in more subdued tones. "Adam and I are together. We're a couple; we're lovers. Do
you understand or do I have to draw you pictures?"
For a moment, she thought she might. Brennan looked as if someone had just struck him
in the head with a steel beam. Emma had expected stunned shock. She had even, perhaps,
expected complete and total disbelief. It was what would come after, the story's end, that made
her heart race while her blood turned to ice water. How would Brennan react now that he
knew? He didn't seem to want to believe her. Was that because he thought she was kidding or
because the idea of she and Adam together horrified him? Emma didn't know and that, more
than anything else, frightened her. She couldn't judge his emotions because he was experiencing
just about every one in the spectrum of human sentiment.
After sitting silently in thought for a while, Brennan reached out and took his drink. He
gulped down every drop. If it was alcoholic, he didn't show any sign of suddenly getting drunk.
With the air of a man about to make a very important statement, he fixed his eyes on Emma, and
said very simply, "I knew it."
At that moment, Adam returned to the table. Brennan stared at him with thoughtful eyes,
perhaps seeing him for the first time, considering this man who had changed all their lives so
drastically. Emma stared at him too, her gaze flinty and a bit stern, as if he'd done something
wrong. She was angry, but more at herself for revealing their secret only to find out secrecy
wasn't even necessary. Adam looked from one to the other, taking in their expressions and
deciding he didn't have a clue what was going on now.
All he could do was mutter, "why do I have the feeling something just hit the fan?"
*************************************************************************
Devon Bowden sat behind the wheel of his car, sweltering in early afternoon heat. On the
seat beside him, propped up as if trying to imitate a person, rested the silenced pistol he would
use to murder Emma DeLauro. His instructions had been very specific. She was to die first, if
possible, and then Brennan Mulwray. Adam Kane was to be wounded rather than murdered.
Somehow, that seemed worse to Devon. How could a man so noble bare a survivor's guilt when
two of his best friends lay dead before him.
The pistol seemed to be mocking him for feeling sympathy for the man. Sunlight gleamed
on its casing, making it seem a jewel. A killing tool that was so much more than it appeared. To
his employer, this pistol was the answer to terrible questions. It was a solution. The weapon
would change the world and barely whisper as it did.
In a way, that was horrifying. The silent kill. The silence that would follow as hearts grew
still and souls drifted soundlessly to a heaven that could not be heard by the living to weep. The
quiet of a revenge so cold-blooded it made innocents into its swords.
"How did I let this happen? Katherine, how could I have been so blind?" Devon whispered
in the lonely, stagnant car interior. No one answered him. It didn't matter. He knew, in his heart,
what had made him foolishly trust another man with the most precious gift ever to come into his
life. "I thought he was a good person. I'm sorry, I just didn't realize."
The electronic display on the radio said that nearly an hour had passed since he'd left the
club, walked away from the last place Emma and Brennan were ever to see. Devon kept
picturing them sitting there with Adam to one side. His mind played memories in an ever more
jumbled montage. Scenes of stalking the Mutant X members, a clip from his wedding to
Katherine, taking the pistol in hand, kissing his wife awake, Adam and Emma sharing a loving
gaze, his own lover's eyes, Brennan laughing, Katherine laughing, the bastard who'd taken her
laughing.
Devon covered his face with his hands and ground his teeth hard, tasting the coppery
sweet tang of blood after a moment. He wanted desperately to wake up in bed, his beautiful wife
beside him, and learn that it was all a bad dream.
It couldn't be done. This nightmare had flesh and form; it was reality.
He was going to commit murder shortly. As soon as Mutant X came out of the club. First,
a single round would race through the air, barely making a sound. Like a child hushed under
covers while monsters roamed under bed and out of closets, the pistol would be silent but not
perfectly so. Emma would die. Devon was an excellent shot. Heart failing as a fragmenting
bullet tore it apart, her last thought would surely be about Adam. If she truly loved him, his name
would be a final utterance from her lips and his face a glimpse of paradise to come.
Next, as Adam desperately tried to shield her from another shot, Brennan would die before
he could use his electrical powers. It would take at least two seconds for him to form a coil of
lightening worthy of Tesla, longer if he was stunned by his friend's sudden death. Another shot.
Greater silence. The inaudible weeping of angels.
Finally, Adam would be wounded. Devon had been told to shoot him in the spine, as he
used his body to protect his fallen lover. Any mistake and he would die. If that happened,
Katherine would also perish. Whether the tears of divinity fell for this man or not, Devon knew
that if his wife was lost, it would mean he'd murdered two people and tried to permanently
paralyzed another for nothing.
"And not just them," he murmured as a trickle of sweat ran the length of his cheek, "but
everyone that loves them will be harmed. Anyone close to the rest of them will suffer as well.
Adam's friends and family, their friends and family. Emma's and Brennan's and so many more. I
won't just be murdering two people. I'll be slaying a city's worth of hopes and dreams and God
knows how much pain I'm to be the cause of." Devon felt a tightness in his chest. Back in the
club, he'd almost made himself believe it wasn't really happening.
No illusions existed now. Reality made no apologies. All the children of Eden had freewill
and many used it for pointless animal hatreds and lusts. Greed ravaged, vanity corrupted, while
depravity was common enough to go unnoticed by most everyone in Hollywood. When the
majority falls into decay, the moral minority falls with them.
Devon closed his eyes. He wanted a way out. He wanted to save Katherine without
committing murder. He wasn't a killer. Until two days ago, he'd believed in peace and that there
was kindness and decency in everyone.
He knew better now.
Some people were monsters hiding in the sheep's clothing of innocence. Beasts of the
abyss that could smile and pretend to love. Once, a man said that it was better for ten guilty men
to go free than for one to be falsely imprisoned. Devon doubted that man had ever considered
just how much damage those ten guilty would do while free. How many rapes or murders or
child molestations in a year? A month? A day even?
A shiver ran down Devon's spine despite the heat of the car. "I'm no better than any of
those people. I'm going to murder heros. All because some psychopath wants revenge. Can't go
to the police, can't even tell anyone what he looks like." He slammed a fist down on the
dashboard. "Can I really do this? Oh Katherine, I know you said not to, but I can't let you die.
I love you too much."
Beside him, the silencer equipped pistol beckoned like the ferryman. The time had come.
No thought nor prayer could prevent what he was about to do. Devon reached over, gripped his
partner in murder tightly, and left the car's frying pan warmth. Soon, he'd jump into the blazes of
hell itself. One shot. A second. Tears of a man who'd just lost more than anyone could be
expected to bear. The third and final shot to take even more from Adam Kane.
Devon tucked the weapon into his shirt. He reached into his back pocket and removed a
picture he always kept with him of Katherine. "I'm sorry baby. I can't let the bastard hurt you.
Better me than you. I just hope. . . that you can find it in your heart. . . to. . . to look at me when
its done." The words chocked him with emotion.
In his hand, the pistol was heavy. The weight of a fallen angel's heart, plummeting toward
abyss and oblivion. Devon returned his wife's image to his pocket. He no longer deserved to
look upon her beauty. He stepped forward.
The storm drew closer.
*************************************************************************
Watching Charlotte Cooke shake and whimper in pain was more enjoyable than Duncan
Ladd thought it should be. Savoring her suffering, he snickered. Far from being a savagely brutal
monster like Simon, he considered himself a connoisseur of torment, a master even. Years ago,
he'd served as a member of a covert intelligence gathering team, systematically developing ways
to extract information that were untraceable. He'd never left a mark, not a bruise or even a paper
cut. Constant repetition of certain musical pieces, ridiculous clothing, insults against a beloved
religion, they all eventually made men break. Duncan looked back on those days with mixed
amusement and regret that they'd been wasted on "non-violent" torture methods.
Since those days, he'd learned things the Nazi SS would have blanched at. His employer
had taught him a few special horrors.
Still, he found himself compelled by instinct to return the subdermal governor remote to his
coat pocket and retrieve Simon's pistol from his cooling corpse. His instincts were warning
him of something now, just as they'd whispered to him of the threat a live Simon would present
when the mission was over. Simon would have told their employer about Duncan's own
indulgences, his delight at every kill.
He could not allow anyone to know about his lust for death. If his employer knew the truth
behind it, he would not enjoy his last moments of life at all. To a degree, he regretted that he
couldn't trust Simon to be quiet. Though he knew it really didn't matter that he'd put a hole in
the man's head, it affected him. In his own way, Duncan had been fond of Simon. . . after a
fashion.
Instinct told him to get ready for an attack. He'd been told to expect Kilmartin to come at
his rear. He took a deep breath, felt it sooth his racing heart. This was what he lived for: the kill,
the thrill of fatality. Used to facing the likes of the GSA and untrained members of the Strand,
Duncan assumed Mutant X would strike boldly and predictably.
Behind him and at his feet, Charlotte was breathing very fast and shallow. Part of him
wanted to check to make sure she wasn't having a heart attack. 'Some trace of a conscience?'
he wondered ideally. 'Unlikely.' He used the sound of her gasps to measure time. Slowly, they
became deep and rhythmic. Duncan checked his watch while keeping one eye on the wall and
one weapon trained there as well. Charlotte no longer sounded as if she intended to die while
more than fifteen minutes had passed while he stood listening.
"Why hasn't Kilmartin attacked?" Duncan muttered as he neared the window once more.
His eyes fell upon the smoldering wreak of the Double Helix. From a distance, he saw nothing to
indicate that there had been survivors. "Perhaps I overestimated them."
He turned around. Charlotte shivered as he knelt close, pulling away from him and
whimpering.
"Oh don't be like that my dear. I have good news for you. It would appear that you were
right after all. I do believe that Mr. Kilmartin and Ms. Fox are, how to put this delicately. . ." A
dark grin formed on his lips. "I'll take a note from my departed colleague's style and be
completely indelicate." He leaned very close, so close in fact that he was breathing in Charlotte's
breath, drawing the scent of her hair into his nostrils. "They are dead. Completely, utterly, dead.
And its all your fault. Everything is your fault."
Charlotte tried to bury her face in the floor, but Duncan grabbed her chin and turned her
face to his once more. "They died because of you. You were our target. All those people we
killed, all for little, pathetic, you."
Tears streaming down her face, Charlotte let out a moan of anguish. Duncan started
laughing and rose. He took a step away from her, intending to admire his handiwork. Taking
that as a cue, she shoved herself upward on her hands, spun her body, and kicked him in the
crotch. Before Duncan was halfway to the floor, Charlotte slammed a foot into his head,
knocking him onto his back. In a blink, she was on her lethal toes, running for freedom and
salvation. All she had to do was make it out of the den and to the front door. Outside, she could
reach the garage and her car. Then she'd be safe.
A surge of electric pain filled her body. She let out a scream and collapsed, twisting and
jerking in agony. It felt as if someone had just poured molten lead into her veins. The sounds that
burst from her lips were equal parts curse and wordless animal noise.
Duncan towered over her a moment later, the back of one hand pressing against a deep
gash in his forehead while still holding a pistol. "You just don't know when to give up, do you?"
He wheezed angrily. "I swear, if it didn't mean my life, I'd kill you and make a month out of it!
Can you imagine what it would be like to slowly die from torture?" Seized by rage, Duncan
struck Charlotte across the face with the pistol, the blow making her head swirl sideways.
"I could kill you right now. The only reason I don't is because my employer will almost
certainly have a worse fate in mind for you."
He slipped the subdermal governor remote into his pocket and grabbed a fistful of her
dark and silken hair. Duncan yanked Charlotte to her feet, eliciting a gasp that made him smile
again. "It's time to go, bitch." He shoved her backwards so that she fell into a chair. He took
the remote back out of his pocket and held it up menacingly. Then, he gestured with the pistol.
"Get up."
Suddenly, Duncan felt a presence behind him. He spun around and there was Jesse
Kilmartin, caught in mid attack. The pistol barked harshly. A look of horrified surprise came into
the blond man's eyes. As he stumbled back, Duncan fired again. And again.
Jesse crumpled bonelessly after the fourth shot roared.
Duncan stared in astonishment. He nudged the body with his toe. It didn't seem to
respond. Cautiously, he leaned down and prodded again, this time employing the barrel of his
pistol against the fallen man's head. There was still no response.
"I killed him." Duncan whispered. It was difficult to believe. After everything he'd learned
about them, how could he put down a member of Mutant X so easily. "Not so tough, after all,
are you?" He rose to his feet again, glanced back and saw that Charlotte was too stunned to
make another escape attempt, and repeated his earlier gesture with the pistol, once more as calm
and businesslike as if he were in a store picking out a suit to wear.
"Get up Ms. Cooke, you've got an appointment to keep."
Slowly, Charlotte obeyed. She acted as if she'd just woken from a deep sleep. Part of
that was from the pain she'd endured in such a short time. The other came from the shock of
Jesse's death. Seeing him fall had taken the fight from her at last.
With Duncan behind, Charlotte walked where he ordered her. As they made their way
slowly through the safe house, she heard her captor's words hissing in a deep and black corner
of her mind. It was her fault. All of their deaths, the blood of friends and would-be saviors,
weighed upon her soul. If she'd been there when they first came, maybe she could have
prevented the massacre. Charlotte wished for a miracle.
Suddenly, from behind, she heard someone shout, "Shalimar now!" She spun around and
saw Jesse wrap his arms around Duncan, pinning his pistol hand before he could fire, making his
body super solid to make it impossible for the bastard to break his hold. In seconds, Shalimar
Fox was there as well, rushing through a nearby door, moving with a feline grace. She drove her
fist into Duncan's stomach, drew back and hit his face. After about seven such punches, he
collapsed at last.
Letting out a relieved sigh, and becoming his usual soft and hugable self again, Jesse rubbed
at his stomach, where Duncan had shot him. Charlotte saw no blood or holes. "I can't believe
that worked." He said quietly, turning to Shalimar. "I thought I was dead for sure."
"What the hell did you do? I heard shots." She replied, her eyes narrowing.
"I let the bastard shoot me. I've been practicing phasing just a portion of my body instead
of the whole thing. Figured it might come in handy. Wasn't sure I had a handle on it yet but I
guess I do." He looked down at Duncan's unconscious body. An expression of pure and
unbridled hatred and disgust formed on his face. He'd already seen this man's partner, so
obviously executed. He'd been told earlier by Charlotte what had happened to the people in the
safe house. Too many details haunted his mind. And now, as she stood so close to him, he saw
the bruise that was just starting to form on her face.
Her eyes were on him.
Without wasting another second, he reached down and bodily lifted Duncan. He turned
and marched toward the nearest window. Jesse took a deep breath and hurled the man through
it, shattering glass. He watched as Duncan hit the ground and sprung back to life, jumping to his
feet, turning toward the window. They shared a glare for an instant. Then Duncan was running
and, chest heaving, Jesse watched as the killer scrambled to escape.
Shalimar stared at Jesse, stunned by what she was seeing. "What in the name of everything
sane are you doing?"
Tears of relief springing to her face, thankful to be alive, Charlotte answered Shalimar's
question. "I don't know. But I like it."
Remarkably calm and controlled Jesse reached down and picked up one of Duncan's
pistols, the one he'd struck Charlotte in the face with. Slowly, focusing his mind, he raised the
weapon and peered down its barrel. He wasn't aiming for Duncan. The target was stationary.
His smile grew colder.
Jesse had his sights set on a proximity mine.
"Let's see how you like it." He whispered and pulled the trigger. An explosion followed,
a wave of force tossing Duncan sideways like a rag doll. Turning back to Shalimar and Charlotte,
his face softened at the sight of one's worried gaze and the other's tears. "Are you alright?" He
asked, taking Charlotte's hand in his and holding it tightly to his chest.
"Yeah. I am now." She was too happy about being saved to wonder why Jesse was
showing such concern for her or why he'd just acted with such vengeful anger. Somewhere in
the back of her mind, she thought back to how he'd quoted the words "go to a place where
sorrow knows no hold and angels tread in silence." How could he know them, the whispers in
the dark, how could he?
Shalimar left the two of them. She went to the window and glanced out. "He's gone."
Fatigue made her almost collapse right there. "That guy you tried to blow up, looks like he's got
nine lives."
Jesse glanced back, stared at her for a second in surprise, then smiled. "Good thing I've
got a cat woman with me to even the odds." He returned his attention to Charlotte, one hand
going to her wounded face, gently touching the purpling skin around her right eye. "And you,
wildcat, you look like you must have put up a great struggle."
Her eyes met his. Something changed in them. They seemed to become slightly lighter, as
if draining of the darker emotions and feelings. Her lips curled into a smile. "My father used to
call me that. Wildcat."
How many of her secrets did he know?
More importantly, why wasn't she upset that he knew them?
Charlotte's body chose that moment to collapse from the strain it had been under.
*************************************************************************
The mansion was a smoldering wreck, every stone melted and every board made ash.
Once verdant, cash green grass now lay in death the color of a vampire's lips, pale and dark at
the same time. Hundreds of trees still blazed all around, sending long pillars of smoke toward
heaven. Nearby, a mobile building that had housed Clark's security people was cooling down at
last, covered in soot and scorch marks. The forgotten dead within no more important to Kelly or
Gabriel than the mansions ruins.
Kneeling in a circle of flame, Tiffany Clark watched as her father was beaten. Each blow
that struck made her wince. Despite all of his failings, she loved him. However, after this day,
she had no respect left for him.
She despised the weakness he'd displayed before in the bedroom. Everything he'd done
since hiring Adam Kane had been idiocy on parade. Mistake after mistake, each one bringing
them closer to capture at the hand's of an insane freak and his psycho whore girlfriend. Tiffany
felt like screaming, but she held back. She'd been told to be silent or else. Though disgust and
love warred in her heart, she wasn't yet sure which was stronger.
Gabriel had no trouble deciding how he felt about the man.
"Doc, you're starting to try my patience. I thought we had a deal."
Although it would have been immense fun to snap Clark's neck, break his spine over one
knee, or otherwise kill the Nazi bastard, Gabriel restrained himself. He was proud of himself for
that. Restraint wasn't a word typically in his vocabulary.
"Tell me what I want to know and I'll go away. Simple. I've destroyed your research,"
Gabriel failed to mention that before allowing Kelly to torch the mansion he'd had her copy it all
to disk. "Now, you can earn survival by saving my life. I'm going to take you to a hospital and
you're going to put together a little booster shot for me. You see, I've got this problem. My
powers are so incredible, this puny mortal coil I wear isn't strong enough to endure them." He
smiled, an expression so charismatic, so disarming, that even a beaten and broken Clark
responded to it. "If you help me, I promise to set you and your lovely daughter free."
Lying on the ground, barely able to sit up, Clark turned to look at his daughter. She was
not far from him, Kelly Rice standing guard over her. When he let himself look at the blonde, he
muttered "Series I," and then almost passed out. Recovering just as he started to fall backwards,
Clark faced Gabriel again. "Alright," he said slowly, grimacing in self loathing and race righteous
rage. "I'll help you."
Tiffany was on her feet in an instant. "You idiot! Do you really expect him to let us go?
He'll kill you the moment you're done!"
Chuckling, Gabriel came close and leaned toward her, reaching out to touch her long
black hair, like flowing strands of midnight anguish. He pressed a finger against his lips and made
a shushing noise. "Quiet dear girl. Can't you tell the adults are talking grownup words? You
don't worry. Everything's going to be fine."
When he wanted, Gabriel could sound more charming than a prince. Through a veil of
hatred, she responded to the soft warmth, the chocolate wonder of his words as they gently
caressed her mind. Slowly, Tiffany grew calm. She even found herself attracted to Gabriel,
wanting to run young and inexperienced fingers through his hair.
"Better." He turned to Kelly. "Why don't you take her for a walk or something while I
haul Dr. Mengele. Be back from the local hospital soon."
With a nod and a knowing smile, for she understood exactly what Gabriel meant by "take
her for a walk," Kelly waved her hand to extinguish the fire circle. She let the girl stand on her
own. No point in helping. Not when she would be dead soon. "Come on kid. Let's wander the
grounds. What's left of them."
Behind her, Gabriel grabbed Clark and started marching him toward the Strand's jet.
They'd acquired it only a short time ago as an antidote to Mutant X's Double Helix. As she
walked, she listened as the engines warmed. She listened as the jet rose steadily into the air.
Finally, her ears followed its movement briefly, as it roared away toward town and a hospital,
where Gabriel could force his salvation from Clark.
Kelly paid the jet too much attention. From the moment she'd risen from the ground,
Tiffany had been carefully and covertly reaching into her dress. The .357 had been difficult to
keep secure, let alone hidden, but the girl had managed. She was her father's daughter, but it
was her mother who'd taught her how to fight and how to secrete weapons in ordinary clothing.
Though she hadn't been much for hugs or kisses, Lydia Jensen Clark had been a staunch
advocate for women's self-defense training.
The revolver was heavier than Tiffany was used to. When she spun around and fired it,
her hands went numb from the recoil. It fell from her hands but that wasn't important. Breathing
hard, rubbing her fingers against her side, she was both satisfied and sickened at the sight of Kelly
lying on the ground, a pool of blood slowly forming around her head. Tiffany turned away and
started running.
Had she been calmer, she would have realized that a blow to the head from a magnum
bullet should have left her enemy's skull a pulverized mess. Instead of killing her, Tiffany had
only grazed Kelly's right temple. Like any scalp wound, this one bled profusely but not
dangerously. There had been sufficient force for a knockout, but for how long?
Unaware that she would soon be in danger again, Tiffany headed for a building that lay at
the very edge of her father's estate. Miraculously, it had been left untouched, likely mistaken for
servant's quarters. Beneath a false log cabin facade lay six inches of hardened steel, an airtight
chamber with more than a year's worth of basic supplies, and the best communications
equipment money could buy. The fact that she and her father had not been waiting there when
the attack came was another foolish error on the elder Clark's head.
"One more reason to not follow in his footsteps." She muttered as she pulled open the
door and rapidly entered a pass code on a hidden keypad next to the interior door. Soon, she
was inside, feeling confident though slightly nauseated at having shot someone.
She went straight to the computer and activated a wall-sized screen. It hummed blankly
for a moment as a satellite moved in orbit, aiming downward to point at a place far more secret
than the cabin. Tiffany waited, knowing it would take a long time for the computer she was
contacting to decide the line was safe. The man she was contacting took no chances.
Suddenly, he appeared on the screen.
Stiffening to attention, as her father had taught her, she bowed her head slightly to him,
hoping he wouldn't cut the transmission immediately. "Mr. Sheckt, I'm calling from my father's
panic room. There has been an incident at the estate. Ashlocke has my father and is heading to
the nearest hospital." She paused. On screen, Sheckt was smiling. "Sir, I need help. There may
be additional Strand operatives in the area."
The man started laughing.
Tiffany got a sinking feeling. "Mr. Sheckt, my father is loyal. You have to help him. You
have to save me!"
The screen went blank.
Sheckt's laughter rang in her ears like dark thunder rolling on the fire plains of hell. She
tried to reconnect with Sheckt's central computer, but Tiffany was blocked immediately. Her
only other hope was the dedicated main line.
When she tried it, there was only a static hiss. Her father had never connected it.
Fifteen minutes later, Kelly woke up and figured out where Tiffany had gone.
A half hour passed before she'd reduced the panic room to molten slag.
*************************************************************************
Well fortified with a shot of something so potently alcoholic Brennan was amazed his breath
didn't ignite, he sat in perfect calm. His eyes traversed between Adam and Emm, resting on each
for a brief respite, before settling on Adam. A congratulatory grin formed on his face. With great
solemnity, Brennan said "I knew it," tapping the table at each word for emphasis. "The two of
you couldn't have been more obvious."
Emma bristled at that. "Excuse me, we were very discreet."
"Right. You both started going into town whenever the rest of us got busy." He held up
his right hand and started counting off with his fingers. "At every meal, you sit beside each other,
barely communicating with the rest of us. The two of you have been going around Sanctuary the
last two weeks bursting into spontaneous grins at the sight of each other. Frankly, I'm amazed
I'm the only one who figured it out, even if I didn't believe it. Heck, I can't believe I managed to
delude myself into thinking I was imagining the whole thing."
Brennan started to take a sip of his drink but thought better of it. The amber fluid was a
bit too strong for his tastes. "You also speak in stereo lately." He added in lieu of drinking.
"We do not!" Adam said at exactly the same time Emma came out with, "we do not!"
They looked at each other for a moment then turned matching shades of red while their
teammate chuckled victoriously. "Okay, we do." Again, they spoke in unplanned, unintended,
but perfect unison, which made Brennan laugh even harder.
After a few seconds, he got quiet. "So. . . how exactly did this happen? I'm guessing it has
something to do with your visit to the 'age of Eckhart' but there's a lot more to this, isn't there?"
His expression was subdued. When he spoke, his voice was respectful and deeply curious.
"How did you two hook up? Give me some details."
Adam turned toward Emma. She nodded ever so slightly, granting him the privilege of
telling the whole story. Rapidly, Brennan got to hear a few of the things they'd left out before.
Word by word, a picture formed. At the end, Adam said simply, "being trapped in the dark
future forced us to come to terms with our mutual affections. We finally confronted our hearts."
He reached out and Emma took his hand in her own, a bond of love. "I'm glad you know and
that you're not bothered by the truth."
Nodding thoughtfully, Brennan said "you two deserve to be happy. If you're happiest with
each other, who am I to say anything?"
"I don't believe it, he's being sensible."
Adam laughed and stood up. "Emma, I think we should leave before he sobers up."
"Oh, now who's trying to be funny. And the operative word is trying. Leave the jokes to
the master, okay? Or my apprentice Jesse." Brennan was on his feet in a flash, moving easily.
He hadn't had enough alcohol to either impair his judgement or unsettle his feet. In fact, as a new
song started playing over the club's speaker system, he went into a one-man dance routine that
won him a standing ovation from Emma, who was now, once more and for always, at Adam's
side.
The trio headed for the front door, laughing and talking as true friends. Feeling giddy with
freedom, their secret finally revealed, Emma planted a kiss on Adam that almost made him pass
out. A young couple who saw them whistled, which made both blush while Brennan started to
open the door for them.
"I can't wait to see everyone's expressions back at Sanctuary when you two do that.
Jesse's going to freak and Shalimar's going to have kittens." He suddenly stopped, the door half
open. "I'd better not let her know I said that."
"No, what you'd better do is move it or lose it!" Emma said as she scooted past him and
threw open the door, taking a deep breath of fresh afternoon air and blinking as bright sunlight
poured down on her. She was the first to step outside. Her foot came down on an abandoned
scrap of paper, making a crackling noise. A gentle breeze rose and carried the scent of fresh
flowers from an open air market down the road. Emma's smile was wide and warm.
On her second step, it froze. She felt the man's emotions before she saw him, black skin a
deeper shade than unaltered coffee with a face like an angel's own. A heart beat passed, maybe
two, before he raised a formidable pistol. The silencer's barrel seemed as long and deep as the
express subway tunnel to hell. Behind her, Emma heard the others freeze in place, felt Adam's
hand on her shoulder, already starting to force her out of harm's way. The man, his green eyes
terribly sad yet filled with determined conviction, began to draw the trigger toward him. Another
beat of Emma's heart passed as he aimed at her. She could feel his mind and his emotions spoke
clearly to her.
In the language of feeling, the man said "forgive me. I have no other choice."
A hiss cleaved the air. There was a ping of metal as a large steel casing fell to the ground,
the only tear of a machine's heart. The rest was pure silence. No words, just quiet stillness. A
faint breeze. An edge of harsh redolence, seared powder, added tang. One moment in time, one
shot through the heart of peace.
The storm had come.
Mutant X would never be the same.
*****************************END OF PART THREE*************************