A smooth smile eased across Moore’s chiseled face. “I can imagine.”
Lizbeth smiled back archly. “You don’t have to imagine, do you, Jax?”
“You did your duty. Well done. President Jacklin will be very happy,” Jax Moore said then. “Now we send him after his half sister, and no matter which one kills the other, we win.”
Her smile stayed, but the slightest trace of unhappiness came into her eyes. “Of course we win. Elites have been winning every battle for thirty years. How else could this turn out?”
Moore didn’t seem to notice Lizbeth’s slight frown. “You’re the bright star tonight, Lizbeth,” he said. “Let’s get you a drink, then it’s time for you to take a bow. This augurs well for 7-4 Day.”
He snapped his fingers and an obsequious robot waiter hurried over to offer her a perfectly made martini. Then Jax Moore turned to address the other guests. Their talk stopped, and everyone watched expectantly.
“As you know very well, we don’t usually hold Agency briefings in the form of cocktail parties,” he began, then waited for a ripple of laughter to quiet. “But this isn’t an ordinary occasion. It’s really a surprise party—except the surprise isn’t for us.
“On the coming 7-4 Day, our human neighbors are going to get the biggest surprise the modern world has ever seen. My friends, in just eighty hours, the human race will be completely eliminated. The greatest threat the earth has ever known will be gone. Hear, hear!”
“It has been a long time coming,” Lizbeth added. “Too long.”
Another excited murmur rose from the audience—the closest these reserved Elites ever came to cheering, or any such show of emotion.
“Let me add that we owe much of our upcoming success to the genius of this lady,” Moore went on, draping an arm around Lizbeth’s shoulders. “A toast to Lizbeth Baker—as brilliant as she is beautiful. No one has sacrificed more.”
Glasses clinked together like chimes, and there was a chorus of hearty congratulations.
Lizbeth raised her own glass in gracious acknowledgment and flashed another brilliant smile. But then she moved quietly out of the limelight, to have a moment alone. The thrill she should have felt was smothered by the distress that was tightening her stomach. She lived by her steely intellect, and she scorned people who were soft in any way. But now she’d fallen into that sort of mess herself, hadn’t she?
She wasn’t bothered in the least by wiping out the nauseating human race. They were no more than insects to her—or worse— and the sooner they were eliminated from earth, the better for everyone, perhaps even for the humans themselves.
But tonight underscored what was troubling her: Hays was the problem.
When she’d first learned that he was human, she was, of course, outraged. She’d vented by making him a pawn against his own kind—then blocking his memory of those events. One way or another, he’d be dead in a matter of hours—loving husband and father, genuine hero for the cause, a man who had enriched her life in countless ways. The sense of loss was already cutting deep, and there was nothing her intellect could do about it. Dammit, she still loved Hays, didn’t she?
Shake it off, Lizbeth! she told herself fiercely. Hays is pitiful—a human.
As she started to rejoin the crowd, a hand patted her from behind. She turned and looked into the face of the hulking McGill—Hays’s former partner and friend. He was smoking a cigar, just like his mentor, Jax Moore.
“So what’s it like jumping in the sack with a skunk?” McGill cracked, leering at her breasts as he always did. He’d obviously had far too much to drink already.
“We need to keep him happy as long as he’s useful. Until 7-4, certainly,” Lizbeth answered coolly. “I do what I have to—it’s called being professional. It’s my duty.”
“Let me know when you’re ready for the real thing—with another professional.”
I’d sooner sleep with a baboon was her first withering thought—a comparison that wasn’t far off. But then again, what better way to take final revenge against a husband who had weakened and confused her totally?
“Well, a widow may need consoling,” she said and, for the first time in days, smiled in a way that felt genuine. Her true self was taking charge again: logical, selfish, brutal when necessary.
“I’ll be there for you,” said McGill, and then he added, “It’s my duty too, and I’m very good at it. I’m all Elite, Lizbeth.”
She laughed at that one—and lit up her own cigar.
Chapter 80
I LEFT MY apartment in a slight daze and walked the short distance to a favorite running path along the winding, and quite beautiful, Imperial Lake.
I busied myself stretching and limbering up along the way. Then I took off, going easy at first—testing myself to find out if I was more weakened than I thought.
But my body felt better than I had any right to expect, and I cranked up my speed until I was flying along in smooth, ten-yard strides.
There was hardly any traffic along the narrow lake road—one of the reasons I liked it here. A delivery vehicle with the logo of Ultima Medical Supplies zipped past me, and a few minutes later, I saw that it had pulled into a service area ahead.
When I got there, the driver was leaning into the rear door, struggling with what appeared to be a large machine for delivery.
I slowed to a trot. “Need help?” I called. This was the kind of thing that Lizbeth hated about me—what she called my “mindless do-gooder impulses.”
“Would you mind? Damn thing slipped off its tracks,” called the driver—a female worker, as it turned out.
Her voice set off a tiny tick in my mind—like maybe I’d heard it before. But the sound was muffled, and where could I have run into this particular delivery person? I dismissed the thought as another one of my recent quirks, exactly what Lizbeth had warned me about.
As I walked closer, she hopped inside the vehicle and began moving her fingers expertly across the machine’s controls. As I looked on, the machine came to life with little clicks and whirs, the monitor readouts flashing.
“That’s an impressive piece of equipment,” I said. “What’s it do?”
“Oh, it’s an ultrasound scanner—uses sonic waves to destroy foreign objects in the body, like kidney stones or blood clots,” she answered.
Then the delivery person swung around and looked straight at me.
“Or the tracking chip that effing Lizbeth planted in your brain,” she said. “Hello, Hays.”
Chapter 81
IN THAT INSTANT, I recognized both the face and the voice. She was the terrorist who’d led the attack on Lizbeth and me after the president’s party.
I lunged toward her—but an electronic jolt slammed into my eyes and immediately pierced through to the back of my skull.
Then came a loud pop, and I felt as if I were getting smashed with a hammer on the inside of my head.
I spun away in agony, clutching my temple. Then I felt her hands catch my shoulders.
I managed clumsily to grab hold of her, determined to take her down too.
But the female terrorist didn’t fight or pull away—just held on to me, almost in an embrace.
“Calm down, Hays,” she soothed. “You’ll be all better in a few seconds. Trust me.”
When she spoke my name, a powerful whirlwind of images erupted in my memory—all the things that had really happened during the days when I thought I’d been lying unconscious in an Elite hospital. Stunned and confused as I was, I understood immediately.
“Lucy?” I said hoarsely.
Chapter 82
“OF COURSE IT’S me. Are you strong enough to stand on your own?” she asked. I nodded, and we moved apart.
Like she’d promised, the viselike grip of pain in my skull was easing, and my thinking seemed clearer already. Suddenly, I remembered a whole lot of things that had happened after the motorcycle crash—Russia, England, France, Lucy, the murder of my parents by Jax Moore.
“Li
zbeth planted a chip in my brain?” I groaned, lowering my face into my hands. “Is that true, Lucy? Careful now, I don’t think I can handle too many more lies.”
“Poor Hays. I started suspecting the worst when the Elites kept following us, and the MI7 confirmed it during that phony interrogation in London. That’s why Sir Nigel sent you to the meeting in France.”
“What?” I jerked my head up and stared at her. “He wanted to get the resistance leaders killed? That’s insane, Lucy. Even if there is a war going on.”
“Take it easy, Hays. He wanted the Elites to think they’re dead,” Lucy said. “So we set up a ruse, a very clever one. Those were just clones at the château. No one died. The real leaders are in hiding, and still hard at work. Desperate measures for desperate times. This is a war—to the death. Hopefully, not ours.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to grasp all that I was hearing now. I’d suspected Lucy of treachery at first, but the real informant was me. And Sir Nigel had played me like a piano. As an ex-agent, I had to admire that—but the thought of the massacre still made me clench my teeth until they hurt. It helped a little to know the real Chantal Dugare wouldn’t die loathing me.
And now—what?—the Elites had used another chip to block out my memory of the recent past? I should be honored, I suppose. They’d gone to a lot of trouble—sophisticated technology, careful planning, and the deceit they were carrying on now. Lizbeth had even used sex to lull me, and with her obvious disgust for humans, she must have forced herself back into our bed. No wonder she’d seemed edgy after half a dozen orgasms.
“They’ve got another use for me,” I said. “That’s why they’re still playing me.”
“So do we, Hays.” Lucy’s gaze was apologetic but intense. “Sorry, but that’s what you get for being who you are.”
“Mr. Popularity,” I muttered. “So what do you want me to do now? How may I serve?”
“Just go along with them, Hays, like your memory’s still blanked out. We need to find out how they plan to strike. We’re pretty sure it won’t be militarily. Sir Nigel now believes that those preparations in the field are a smoke screen. The annihilation of the human race won’t involve hand-to-hand combat.”
I shook my head hard, still trying to clear it. “I was just getting used to being a double agent. Now I’m what—a triple agent?”
Then Lucy surprised me by grasping my hands in hers.
“Hays, you have to be ruthless from here on. Everything, and I mean everything, depends on making them believe you still think you’re an Elite.” Her grip tightened. “No matter what happens, keep reminding yourself: if they win, we’re all dead. You too.”
Strangely, I couldn’t find any words to speak. I was lost in the sudden awareness that I’d never looked into eyes that were so clear and sincere. So human, I suppose.
Lucy finally lowered her gaze and let go of my hands. “I’ve got to keep moving. There are police all over—looking for me. I’ll try to stay in touch. If it doesn’t work out that way, well, you turned out to be pretty great.”
With that said, she slammed the truck’s rear door shut, jumped into the driver’s seat, and then took off.
I started back toward home, still shaken by the recent burst inside my head—and much more disturbed by what I’d just learned about dear, sweet Lizbeth.
But by the time I got back to our apartment, my shock was overpowered by anger. At least I knew what side I was on now.
Hays Baker is no Elite!… Hays Baker is human!
Chapter 83
THE NEXT MORNING—a whole lot worse for the wear and tear—I walked rather purposefully into Agency Headquarters for my “welcome back” meeting with Jax Moore. My step was springy, and I greeted my old coworkers cheerfully—fighting the urge to start shooting each and every one of them on sight. These heartless bastards were part of the brain trust behind a genocide plan. And so was my wife.
“It hasn’t been the same around here without you,” Moore said, welcoming me into his office with his usual ruggedly handsome smile and a handshake firm enough to break bones. I shook off the impulse to break all the bones in his face.
“I think we can get back on track pretty quick, boss,” I said crisply, lying through my teeth.
“Coffee, Agent Baker?” asked the familiar mechanized voice of the office’s built-in catering unit.
“The usual, thanks,” I said, since I was being careful to make sure that “the usual” was exactly the impression I made.
Within seconds, a robotic arm handed me a cup of delicious espresso, strong and bitter. At least this stuff wasn’t washed out like the no-calorie food served everywhere else in New Lake City.
Moore waved me to a leather easy chair and sat behind his all-glass desk. He lit up a stogie, and I kept imagining it blowing up in his face. Seriously blowing up.
“I’ve got a top-priority assignment,” he said. “I wanted to give you a little time to rest, but it can’t wait any longer. Hays, we need you. President Jacklin has asked for you personally. Are you feeling up to a little action?”
“One hundred percent,” I said.
“Good—you’re going to love this.” He touched a control, and a monitor screen blinked on.
It displayed a life-size image of Lucy’s face. I did, in fact, love it.
“Recognize her?” Moore said.
“She’s one of the terrorists—the ones who attacked Lizbeth and me when we were leaving the president’s party,” I said grimly, as if my hatred of her was still fresh in my mind. But my guts twisted as I guessed what was coming next.
“She goes by the code name Lucy, or sometimes Megwin. How folksy those humans are,” Moore said. “She’s very good at eluding surveillance, but now we’ve got her located and we’re ready to move on this worthless skunk bitch.”
I was seething with anger, but I had to say yes to my boss. Backing out would look suspicious, and besides, I’d rather go after Lucy myself than let someone like McGill get the assignment to kill her.
“You’re right I’d love it,” I said. “I want to take that one out myself.”
Moore smiled and relaxed back in his chair. “Hays, you’re sure you’ve never seen her, except that one time with Lizbeth?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I said, looking surprised at the question. “I’ll never forget that one.”
“Lizbeth said you were still confused from the anesthesia. If I’m going to put you out there, I want to be damned positive you’re at one hundred percent.”
“That was just one small glitch—right as I was waking up. There’s been nothing else since then. In fact, I feel perfectly rested and ready to go.”
“All right, but don’t get overconfident,” Moore warned. “She and her people have killed a lot of Elites, including those executives at the Baronville Toyz store.” A cruel look came into his eyes. “Hays, we want to take her alive. Her interrogation will be most entertaining. This Lucy/Megwin bitch has a lot of secrets we need to know.”
Chapter 84
MY OLD PARTNER and “good buddy,” Owen McGill, was waiting for me on the city’s south side, at the fringe of the so-called Human Slums, or Darkness. It was already night when I got there, but McGill’s height and build were easy to spot. Some things never change.
“My main man!” he said, hurrying to give me a bone-crushing hug. “Welcome back, Hays. The good times are about to get rolling again.”
“Going to roll right over whatever gets in our way,” I said with equally false heartiness. I was remembering how McGill had spat in my eye while I lay strapped to a hospital bed. And how he had punched me in the face.
That was another score I wanted to settle, but now wasn’t the time for vendettas. Now was the time to find a way for Lucy to escape from an Agency trap, whatever it might be.
What a foul night this was turning out to be. I’d driven here with my hands clenched so tightly on the wheel that I almost snapped the damn thing off. I couldn’t think the situation through because
I didn’t know enough about this mission, the plan of attack, or even where Lucy was supposed to be hiding. Jax Moore had told me that McGill would fill me in, then he hurried me out of his office—probably because he still had doubts about me. Moore is nothing if not clever, devious, paranoid, and a chilling murderer.
“You’re probably thinking the skunkess is in there.” McGill jerked his head toward the slum’s squalid streets, which were crowded with hapless humans, plus violent Ghools—wyre addicts—moving through the smoky glow of the cooking fires. “So did we at first. It took us a while to locate the clever bitch. But we’ve got her, Hays. We have her nailed.”
He pointed in the opposite direction, out to where the slum ended at a dried-up river channel and a dark wasteland stretched into the distance. The only structure I knew of there was the city’s old water-filtration plant—a concrete hulk about the size of a sports stadium.
“That old plant?” I said. “How has she managed to sneak in there?”
“That’s where we’ve got a small problem,” McGill said. “Take a look at this.”
He handed me a perspective imager, a slender mask that fit across my eyes and relayed a sharp picture of the building’s interior.
I knew that Lucy would be there—but actually seeing her was like taking a hard punch in the stomach. She and two men were working at tables spread with a cache of rifles and pistols, the kind that shot metal bullets. It looked like they were cleaning the outmoded weapons, getting ready to use them.
And McGill’s “problem” was easy to see on the imager—Lucy had an escape route. The plant’s water mains had been opened and their maintenance hatches torn off. The mains dropped underground and branched into a complex network that ran under the entire city. At the whisper of alarm, Lucy and her team could easily disappear into the tunnels. That was certainly reassuring to me.