And what was Maia doing here? Shouldn’t she be in school? Meghan stepped protectively between the teenager and Tess. “Does your mom know you’re here?”
“Not really,” the girl said sheepishly. She sat on the couch between the two Garritys. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”
At least she didn’t sound like she was under Tess’s control. “That depends.” Meghan turned toward their host. “Spill, Marco. Why did you invite us all here?”
“He didn’t,” a raspy voice intruded on the scene. Jordan Collier entered the lounge through a pair of industrial-looking double doors. “I did.”
Meghan’s eyes widened. She kicked herself for not carrying a sidearm, even though she was an administrator, not a field agent. She glanced at the Garritys to reassure herself that she had backup if she needed it. Collier’s ubiquitous bodyguards were nowhere to be seen, but Meghan doubted they were very far away. Maybe even in the next room?
“Jordan asked me to set up this meeting,” Marco explained. “He made a pretty compelling case.”
“Did he?” Meghan asked acerbically.
There had been a time, only two months ago, when capturing Collier had been NTAC’s number one priority. But that was before he became the de facto ruler of Seattle.
Arresting him was no longer a viable option.
“Please sit down, Ms. Doyle.” Collier gestured at a plush easy chair across from the couch. A Darth Vader beach towel was draped over the back of the chair. The floor needed vacuuming. “There’s no need to be alarmed. I just want to talk, off the record.”
Meghan decided to play this by ear. She took her seat. “About what?”
“Frankly, I need your help.” He stood facing the eclectic assemblage of 4400s and NTAC personnel. His austere black frock coat gave him the look of a preacher addressing a wary congregation. “Are you aware that Richard Tyler has been apprehended again?”
What? The unexpected news came as too much of a shock to even try to maintain a poker face. Tyler had been on the top of Interpol’s most-wanted list ever since eyewitnesses linked him to the assassination of Cardinal Calabria in Rome. If he had been captured by the authorities, she should have been aware of it.
“No,” she admitted. “By whom?”
“Dennis Ryland. Haspelcorp. Possibly in conjunction with the Marked.” Contempt dripped from Collier’s voice. “I have reason to believe that he is presently being held in a secret prison run by Haspelcorp. No doubt with the tacit approval of the federal government.”
“Interesting,” Meghan said cautiously. It was no secret that the feds had contracted Haspelcorp to deal with the 4400 situation. NTAC and the company had butted heads before over matters of national security. Dennis Ryland had occupied Meghan’s own office before making the move to the private sector. “But even if that’s true, why are we here? What’s the point of this meeting?”
“It’s simple.” He smiled wryly. “You need to break him out of prison.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “Come again?” She was taken aback by the man’s audacity. Even for a self-styled messiah, this was a bit much. “You must be joking!”
“I’m deadly serious.” He walked over to Maia and laid his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “A reliable source, who just happens to be our own remarkable Maia Skouris, informs me that Ryland is trying to force Tyler to falsely testify that I’m developing promicin into some sort of biological weapon of mass destruction. That’s just the excuse my enemies, including the Marked, need to launch an all-out assault on Promise City.” His smile faded as he painted a grim picture of just what that might entail. “An armed invasion, aerial strikes, maybe even the nuclear option. We, of course, would be compelled to retaliate. The potential loss of life would be truly staggering.” He swept his gaze over all present. “None of us wants that.”
My God, Meghan thought, dismayed by what she had just heard. She wished she could dismiss Collier’s prediction as mere alarmist fearmongering, but, sadly, that was hardly the case. As director of NTAC, she was all too aware that similar scenarios were already being gamed out, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, in the corridors of power. Collier had drawn a line in the sand when he first annexed Promise City. Fifty/fifty had escalated matters nearly to the breaking point. If there was tangible evidence—like perhaps a videotaped confession from a known 4400 terrorist—that an even bigger outbreak might be just around the corner, all bets were off.
“Is this true?” she asked Maia.
The girl nodded solemnly. She spoke with a gravity beyond her years. “I saw it, Ms. Doyle. They’re going to force him to lie about Jordan.”
Meghan knew better than to dismiss Maia’s visions. Even still, she wasn’t ready to drink Collier’s Kool-Aid just yet. “If this is so important, why not rescue Tyler yourself? You broke him out of prison the first time.”
“I’m afraid you’re laboring under a misconception,” he said, deflecting her accusation. “I had nothing to do with any of Richard’s recent activities. I’m merely an interested third party in this critical affair.”
“Uh-huh, right,” the Garritys snorted in unison.
Meghan didn’t believe him, either.
Jordan ignored their skepticism. “In any event, it appears that Richard’s accomplices are either dead or captured. And I lack the resources to immediately field a rescue mission of my own. In addition, I rather suspect that Ryland’s agents are watching me and my people very closely at present, eliminating the element of surprise. Finally, and perhaps most significantly,” he admitted, “I have no idea where he is being held.”
Guess there are limits to Maia’s vision, Meghan thought. “And you think we can find that out for you?”
“I have considerable faith in your resources,” Collier replied. “Don’t forget that we’ve successfully worked together before. Such as the time we were all trapped in that illusory game?”
Meghan recalled the incident. P. J. Devine, a p-positive member of Marco’s Theory Room team, had tried to mend fences between NTAC and Collier’s Movement by snaring key individuals from both factions in a psychic construct that mimicked NTAC HQ. Meghan was unlikely to ever forget the experience, considering that she had actually “died” in that virtual reality. Thank God Collier and Tom had eventually figured out how to snap them all back to the real world!
Speaking of Tom, she noticed belatedly that both he and Diana were missing from this little coffee klatch. As far as she knew, they were out interviewing Bernard Grayson’s relatives and associates, but it seemed odd that they hadn’t been included. They’d both had more experience with Tyler than anyone else in this room. She gave Marco a quizzical look. “Where are Baldwin and Skouris?”
“Positives only,” Collier said, “at my insistence. No offense to your distinguished colleagues, but this is something best handled by those of us whom fate has blessed with abilities.” Standing behind the couch, he smiled benignly down at Maia. “And, out of respect for young Maia, I don’t wish to endanger her mother’s life or career.”
“As opposed to the rest of us?” Jed Blue groused.
“You’re all positives,” Collier said sternly, as though mildly annoyed that they hadn’t come over to his side already. “You have as much to lose as anyone if Ryland and the Marked provoke an all-out war between positives and negatives. You should be eager to undertake this vital mission.”
“Forgive us if we’re underwhelmed at the prospect of committing treason,” Meghan responded dryly. She wondered exactly how much Collier knew about their respective abilities, including her own; that was far from public knowledge. Granted, the fact that there were now two Garritys was hard to miss, but she and Marco had hardly advertised their new abilities. Maybe he has no idea what we actually can do?
Then again, he had somehow learned about April Skouris’s ability. Meghan remembered Tom’s concerns that there might be a mole at NTAC. Was it possible that one of the other positives at NTAC might be sharing info with Collier? She di
dn’t want to think that Marco or one of the Garritys could be the leak, but it was possible that becoming p-positive might have changed their outlooks regarding the Movement. As she furtively surveyed her colleagues, it occurred to her that another positive was conspicuously absent. “I don’t see Abigail Hunnicutt here.”
“That was my call,” Marco confessed. “Her ability doesn’t exactly lend itself to commando raids, so why get her involved?” He blushed slightly; Meghan suspected that he had a bit of a crush on the blond brainiac. “She’s better off not knowing about any of this.”
That’s probably true, Meghan conceded. The ability to scan a person’s DNA was not going to break anyone out of custody. And she couldn’t blame Marco for being overly protective of his last surviving team member. He had lost two of his fellow nerds last year. P.J. was currently serving a life sentence for voluntarily taking promicin. Brady Wingate had died during fifty/fifty… .
“You actually think we should do this?” she asked Marco dubiously. “Richard Tyler is a suspected terrorist and assassin. He helped kill a man in Rome only days ago.”
“Not just any man,” Collier corrected her. “A member of the Marked. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending that you were not aware of his true nature. If Richard was involved with this alleged assassination, then he was only acting in defense of his people and the future.” His dark eyes narrowed as he challenged Meghan. “Or do you condone what the Marked have done, and will continue to do unless they’re stopped?”
“Of course not!” Meghan blurted, letting a flash of emotion betray her professional reserve. She was no friend of the Marked, especially after what they had put Tom through. Discovering that her lover had been possessed by a murderous intelligence from the future had been one of the worst moments of her life. Her skin still crawled whenever she recalled how she had unknowingly let the false Tom make love to her. “But that doesn’t excuse cold-blooded murder.”
“Doesn’t it?” Collier asked. “Even when the Marked killed Tyler’s only child?” His voice took on a distinctly prosecutorial tone. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that Emanuel Calabria was ever going to pay for his crimes.”
Meghan found herself at a loss for a reply. “That’s not the point,” she said weakly.
“Please, stop arguing!” Maia interrupted. She pleaded on Richard Tyler’s behalf. “You have to listen to me. Mr. Tyler is a good man. He saved us all from his daughter years ago. He doesn’t deserve what they’re going to do to him. Nobody does.”
The soulful intensity of the girl’s entreaty gave Meghan pause. She had never met Tyler herself; he had already been on the run by the time she took over NTAC’s operations in the Northwest. But Tom and Diana had both expressed sympathy for the man at various points, as had Shawn Farrell and many of the people at The 4400 Center. Tyler had lost both his wife and daughter to the future’s machinations. Perhaps he truly was more sinned against than sinning?
“They’re going to torture him,” Maia foretold, “if they haven’t already. You have to do something. You have to.”
Meghan sighed, genuinely conflicted. Liberating Tyler from Haspelcorp was way out of her jurisdiction, but she had never been one to play things by the book. If there was one thing she had learned during her stint at NTAC, it was that matters concerning the 4400 were rarely black-and-white. Shawn had proved that to her when he had cured her father’s Huntington’s disease. Maybe this was another instance where the greater good demanded that she break the rules?
She looked to Marco and the Garritys for input. “I don’t know. What do you guys think?”
“Go for it,” Jed Blue said.
“Or not,” Jed Red disagreed.
They glared at each other in disgust, canceling out each other’s vote as usual. Meghan suspected that the doubles habitually contradicted their twins just to prove that they were still individuals. Both men also stubbornly claimed to be the original Garrity.
“Marco?” she asked in exasperation.
Marco shrugged his shoulders. “To tell you the truth, I’m inclined to trust Maia. If we can stop a war from breaking out, what other choice do we have?”
“You do realize,” she pointed out, “that if anyone finds out about this, all of our careers are down the drain. Not to mention our freedom.”
The government would not look kindly on NTAC employees who conspired to liberate a wanted terrorist from custody. They’d be lucky not to get locked up for life.
“Maybe not,” Tess spoke up. In the heat of the debate, Meghan had almost forgotten that the introverted young woman was present. “If we get caught, you can always claim that I forced you to take part in the mission.”
And what if we refuse? Meghan thought. Was there an implied threat in that offer?
“You have to do it,” Maia said. The precognitive teen played her trump card. “I saw you.”
Meghan wondered if she was telling the truth.
* * *
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Tom said.
He and Diana were driving back from Bellingham, two hundred miles north of Seattle, where they had finally managed to track down Grayson’s elusive ex-wife, Michelle. Unfortunately, the former Mrs. Grayson, who had left her husband four years before fifty/fifty, seemed to know next to nothing about the mortician’s recent activities. She’d neither known nor cared where he might be hiding these days, although she had tried to make the agents a deal on a pair of purebred bulldogs. Thankfully, they had departed without any puppies.
“It was worth a try, I guess.” Diana rode shotgun in the passenger seat next to Tom. I-5 stretched before them. Hills of evergreens rose and fell alongside the road. “You think she was telling the truth, that she hasn’t been in contact with Grayson since the divorce?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Tom tried to remember the last time he had spoken with his own ex. Their marriage had not survived Kyle’s three-year coma. Linda had moved to Spokane a few years back.
Diana did not dispute his assessment of Michelle’s veracity. “So where does that leave us?”
“Hell if I know.” Since losing Grayson at the mortuary, they had run into nothing but dead ends. Grayson had no children and no known significant other. A thorough search of his residence on the second floor of the funeral home had turned up only plenty of utopian 4400 literature. His address book and home computer yielded only a discouragingly long list of casual acquaintances and business connections. Prior to fifty/fifty, Grayson appeared to have been a serious workaholic who put most of his time and energy into his business. He had no criminal record, and no secondary residences. None of the troopers at the border checkpoints had reported seeing him. His photo had been posted at every known exit from Promise City.
Tom gazed at the highway ahead of them. They had a long drive back to Seattle, and he wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with all the checkpoints and barriers again. It would be nearly three by the time they got back to HQ. He wondered if it was even worth checking back into the office. Maybe we should just call it a day?
A roadside sign alerted him to a rest stop ahead. An empty stomach reminded him that they hadn’t eaten lunch yet. A fresh cup of coffee and a turkey sandwich sounded pretty good right now. “You want to stop for a bite?”
“Might as well,” Diana agreed. “It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to get to in a hurry.”
Sad but true, Tom thought. He pulled into the exit lane and hit the turn signal. The turnoff was only a mile away when his cell phone rang unexpectedly. Keeping his eye on the road, he fished the phone out of his jacket pocket. He lifted it to his ear. “Hello? Baldwin here.”
“Hi, Dad. It’s me, Kyle.”
Tom’s heart leapt at the sound of his son’s voice. “Kyle!” He’d left several messages on Kyle’s machine, after that blow-up at dinner last night, but this was the first time they’d actually connected since the argument. He hoped this meant that Kyle was still speaking to him. “Thanks for calling back. I mean that.”
>
“Yeah, right.” He sounded tense and uncomfortable. “You got a second, Dad?”
This obviously wasn’t a social call. “Sure. What’s up?”
“It’s about that Grayson guy, the one you were asking about …”
“Yeah?” Tom asked apprehensively. Was his son still upset about that? “Look, Kyle, I’m not happy about the way we left things last night. You’ve got to know that I would never want to do anything that might drive us apart.”
It felt awkward having this conversation right in front of Diana, but his partner thoughtfully pretended to be reviewing Grayson’s dossier instead. She kept her gaze on the folder in her lap. Tom appreciated her discretion.
“I know, Dad.” Kyle kept his voice low, almost as though he was afraid of being overheard. “That’s the thing. I looked up Grayson for you and I found something weird. It’s probably nothing, but …” His voice trailed off. He muttered something beneath his breath. “Just leave me alone, will you? I know what I’m doing.”
“What’s that, Kyle?” Tom wasn’t following. Did I say something to offend him?
“Nothing, Dad. That wasn’t directed at you.” He sounded embarrassed by his outburst. “I was just talking to myself, sort of.”
Tom got the impression his son wasn’t telling him the whole truth. Is someone with him?
“Are you alone?” he asked softly. “Can you speak freely?”
That caught Diana’s attention. She gave him an inquisitive look.
“More or less,” Kyle said vaguely. “Anyway, about Grayson …”
“Yes?” Tom tried not to sound too eager, for fear of scaring Kyle off. Judging from his obvious nerves, Kyle was on the verge of hanging up at any minute. “What is it, Kyle?”
Slowly, hesitantly, his son related what he had learned about Bernard Grayson and something called the Global Outreach Committee. The name didn’t ring any bells, but Tom’s ears perked up when Kyle mentioned that the GOC had recently purchased an abandoned plasma center in downtown Seattle. He instantly thought of the way Grayson had converted the funeral home’s facilities into some sort of biological cloning laboratory. His gut told him that Grayson was up to his old tricks.