John Hawks - The Traveler

Fire trucks and police cars were scattered around the quadrangle. At night, their flashing red lights had seemed bright and demanding. In the early morning, the lights blinked feebly. Canvas fire hoses snaked from the pumper trucks to the vents. Some of the hoses were still spraying water below while firefighters with blackened faces drank coffee from cardboard cups.

Boone had made a general assessment two hours ago. The explosion in the tunnels and the resulting power failure had caused damage in every building. Apparently the quantum computer had shut down and part of the mechanism had been destroyed. A young computer technician estimated that it would take nine months to a year for everything to get running again. The basements were flooded. All laboratories and offices were blackened with smoke. A computerized refrigerator in the genetic research laboratory had stopped working and several splicer experiments were ruined.

Boone didn’t care about the destruction. As far as he was concerned, every building in the compound could have collapsed into rubble. The real disaster was that a Harlequin and a known Traveler had been allowed to escape.

His ability to start an immediate search had been undermined by a minimum-wage security guard sitting in the gatehouse at the entrance to the facility. When the explosions started, the young man had panicked and called the police and fire department. The Brethren had influence throughout the world, but Boone couldn’t control a team of local firefighters determined to do their job. While the firefighters set up a command post and sprayed water into the tunnels, he helped General Nash and Michael Corrigan leave the quadrangle in a guarded convoy. Boone spent the rest of the night making sure that no one found Shepherd’s body or the three dead men in the administration center.

“Mr. Boone? Excuse me, Mr. Boone…”

He glanced over his shoulder as a fire captain named Vernon McGee approached him. The stocky little captain had been in the quadrangle since midnight, but he still appeared to be full of energy-almost cheerful. Boone decided that suburban firefighters were bored with checking hydrants and retrieving cats from trees.

“I think we’re ready to start the inspection now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fire is knocked down, but it will take a few hours until we can go into the maintenance tunnels. Right now I need to enter each building and check for structural damage.”

“That’s impossible. As I told you last night, the staff here is involved with top-secret research for the government. Just about every room requires a security clearance.”

Captain McGee rocked back slightly on the heels of his boots. “I don’t give a damn about that. I’m fire captain and this is my district. I have the right to enter any of these buildings for reasons of public safety. Feel free to give me an escort if you want.”

Boone tried to conceal his anger as McGee swaggered back to his men. Perhaps the firefighters could do an inspection. It was possible. The bodies had already been wrapped in plastic and dumped in a van. Later that day, they would be shipped down to Brooklyn, where a cooperative mortician would cremate them and throw the ashes into the sea.

Boone decided to check out the administration center before McGee started nosing around. Two security men were supposed to be in the third-floor hallway, ripping up the blood-stained carpet. Although the surveillance cameras were dead, Boone always assumed that someone was watching him. He marched confidently across the quadrangle as if everything was under control. His cell phone rang and, when he answered it, he heard Kennard Nash’s booming voice.

“What’s the situation?”

“The fire department is going to make a safety inspection.”

Nash swore loudly. “Who should I call? The governor’s office? Could the governor stop this?”

“There’s no reason to stop anything. We’ve cleaned up the significant problems.”

“They’re going to find out that someone started the fire.”

“That’s exactly want I want them to do. Right now, I have a team at Lawrence Takawa’s apartment. They’ll place a half-made explosive device on his kitchen table and write a revenge letter on his personal computer. When the arson investigators show up, I’ll tell them about our angry employee-”

“And they’ll start looking for a man who has already disappeared.” Nash laughed softly. “Good work, Mr. Boone. I’ll talk to you this evening.”

General Nash ended the phone call without saying goodbye and Boone stood alone near the entrance to the administration center. If he reviewed his actions during the last few weeks, he had to acknowledge some mistakes. He had underestimated Maya’s effectiveness and ignored his own suspicions about Lawrence Takawa. He had given in to anger on several occasions, and that had influenced his choices.

As the fire died down, the smoke changed color from black to dirty gray. It looked like car exhaust-just ordinary pollution-as it came out of the vents, drifted up into the air, and disappeared. Maybe the Brethren had suffered a temporary setback, but victory was inevitable. Politicians could talk about freedom, their words thrown into the air like confetti. It meant nothing; the traditional idea of freedom was fading away. For the first time that morning, Boone pressed the button on his wristwatch and was pleased to see that his pulse rate was normal. He stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and entered the building.

Once again, Maya was held captive by the dream. Standing alone in the dark tunnel, she attacked the three football thugs and escaped down the staircase. Men were fighting on the platform, trying to smash the train windows, as Thorn grabbed her with his right hand and pulled her into the car.

She had thought about that incident so many times that it had become a permanent section of her brain. Wake up , she told herself. Enough . But this time she lingered in the memory. The train lurched forward and she pressed her face against her father’s wool overcoat. Her eyes were closed as she bit her lip and tasted blood in her mouth.

Maya’s anger was strong and loud, but another voice was whispering to her in the darkness. And then she knew that a secret was about to be revealed. Thorn had always been strong and brave and sure of himself. He had betrayed her that afternoon in North London, but something else had happened.

The Underground train lurched forward, leaving the station, and she looked up at her father and saw that he was crying. At the time, it seemed impossible that Thorn could ever show weakness. But now she knew it was true. A single tear on a Harlequin’s cheek was a rare and precious thing. Forgive me. Was that what he was thinking? Forgive me for what I have done to you.

SHE OPENED HER eyes and saw that Vicki was looking down at her. For a few seconds Maya lingered in a shadow land between her dream and the waking world; she could still see Thorn’s face while her hand touched the edge of a blanket. Breathe out. And her father disappeared.

“Can you hear me?” Vicki asked.

“Yes. I’m awake.”

“How do you feel?”

Maya reached beneath the bedsheet and felt the bandage that covered her injured leg. If she moved her body quickly, there was a sharp pain, like being jabbed with the point of a knife. If she remained stationary, it felt like someone had burned her skin with a branding iron. Thorn had taught her that you couldn’t ignore pain; you tried to reduce it to a specific point that was isolated from the rest of your body.

She looked around the room and remembered being placed in the bed. They were in a beach house on the coast of Cape Cod, the curving Massachusetts peninsula that jutted into the Atlantic Ocean. Vicki, Gabriel, and Hollis had driven her there after spending several hours at a private clinic run by a doctor in Boston. The doctor was a member of Vicki’s church who used the house as a summer retreat.