Mark Del Franco - Face Off

While she waited for him to compose himself, sendings from the rest of the team flowed in. Buildings all over the compound had been rigged with explosives and were now in flames. The few Legacy staff remaining had escaped on boats on the river side of the site. The fighting had been a distraction until the bombs went off.

Still confused, Whiting’s eyes alternately cleared and glazed over a few times. “We have to get to Washington.”

Laura stared at him. “What was going on here?”

Whiting rubbed a hand against his temple. “They stole my research on Cress and made an amplifier for her abilities. Amazing work, actually. I hadn’t thought through the implications.”

“Implications for what?” asked Sinclair.

Whiting tilted his head up. “I proposed the crèche as a way to dampen the cravings Cress had for essence. These people inverted my design. They created a pod for Cress’s body and the helmets to expand her abilities. They’re using her as a weapon to deactivate essence. The fey will be helpless against them.”

“Cress would not have agreed to this,” Laura said.

Whiting’s face became troubled. “She didn’t. I created a ward on the pod that suppressed her consciousness. It’s slaved to a control helmet. A man named DeWinter has it.”

Laura swore. “I should have blown his head off in the limo.”

“Hel, that explains it,” Sinclair said.

“What?” she asked.

“When I wore the helmet during training, I kept making moves and decisions that surprised me,” he said.

Whiting’s face was becoming animated. “It worked, then. I’d wondered how successful it would be. The crèche is a ward generator. The modules on the sides synchronize the helmets to the pod. The stone embedded in the back of the helmet is an impulse conductor. Put the two together, and anyone who wears a helmet is under your direct control.”

Laura interrupted him. “You said we have to get to Washington.”

Whiting became subdued as he remembered something. “They’re going to attack the fey leadership. I don’t know the details.”

Laura met Sinclair’s gaze. “Draigen’s reception. She’s been a target since she arrived, and the entire fey leadership is there right now. “

Sinclair sighed. “Why did I know this would end up about Terryn?”

Laura frowned. “Terryn’s not the point, and you know it.”

“They’ll need a granite-based structure to create an essence-dampening field,” Whiting said.

Sinclair shook his head in feigned annoyance. “Gee, how will we ever find a granite structure in D.C.?”

THREE DANANNS FROMthe tactical team raced through the air, carrying Laura, Sinclair, and Whiting. The wind whipping past their ears removed any possibility of audible conversation. Below them, the landscape whirred by in a smear of darkened foliage and intermittent streetlights. Laura didn’t want to risk time getting Whiting to a healer by driving, and she wanted to be back in D.C. as soon as possible.

She had already done a sending to Genda Boone about their discovery, which set in motion security protocols across the city. Laura monitored the InterSec alert channels, a constant stream of sendings updating security in real time. Even with the Danann’s shield barrier protecting her from wind shear, alerts slammed back at her as agencies scrambled to respond.

The district is in lockdown. The Washington Monument has been taken over by unknown sources, she sent to Sinclair and Whiting.

Sinclair’s sending came in with a snide tone. I wonder who they could be?

What a brilliant idea. Whoever thought of it is wasted on this, Whiting sent.

Excuse me? Laura sent.

The Monument is perfectly shaped and granite. Remember your fundamental ward skills, he sent.

Laura stared in disbelief at Whiting across the open patch of sky. Danu’s blood, are you kidding me?

Not at all. It’s brilliant, he sent.

The Danann carrying Sinclair was somewhere behind. I don’t get it, Sinclair sent.

They’re going to turn the damned Monument into a giant ward stone to absorb essence, Laura sent.

Is that possible? he asked.

Theoretically. With the right configurations and ability sourcing, sent Whiting.

How big a field will it generate? Laura asked.

Impossible to tell without knowing all the variables. A mile? Two? Simply amazing, Whiting sent.

Well within range of the Guildhouse, she thought. And practically every major government facility. A smudge of light appeared on the horizon, the top of the Monument visible from thirty miles away, the tallest point in the city. As she spotted it, it took on the sharpness of its more recognizable shape. Laura estimated their arrival in fifteen or twenty minutes.

Genda sent a brief mention of shots fired at the Guildhouse and that an evacuation was under way. Laura sorted through the InterSec sendings, creating a picture of the defense forces being set up. Every conceivable branch of law enforcement had been rolled out—Marine units lining the Mall, various police agencies locking down and guarding government buildings, and private security firms rolling out their hardware.

The Coast Guard had units surging up the Potomac. Civilian government staff—including the president and legislators—were being whisked to secure facilities.

As they neared the outskirts of the city, streaks of light marked the paths of F-16 fighter jets. Blackhawk helicopters hung like dark clouds ready to release a storm. A sudden shimmer in the distance rippled on the horizon, the lights and buildings of downtown blurring out. A confused chatter broke the calm tone of the emergency sendings, then everything went silent.

Laura tried sending to Genda but received no response. She tried tapping any of her regular communication-sending channels to no result. She did a broadcast sending open to anyone who could hear, only to receive the same back from bewildered fey, all of whom were not in the city center.

I lost contact. I think the essence dampening has been activated, she sent. They would have to fly blind the rest of the way in. She hoped all the human forces had been given her heading coordinates before sendings were jammed.

Laura’s stomach clenched as a fighter jet soared past them and raced toward the city. In its wake, the three Dananns fought against air turbulence, spreading farther apart. As they regained control, a sudden drop in altitude brought them dangerously close to the rooftops.

Take us in low. You’re going to lose your flying abilities when we get closer, she sent.

In unison, the Dananns descended, skimming over the trees of the outer neighborhoods. They passed through an abrupt break in the surrounding air, a space devoid of essence. The Dananns struggled to maintain altitude without essence to use as lift. Banking sharply, they coasted on air currents until they were out of the empty-essence zone, skirting over George Washington University and tacking north of the White House. Laura directed them to set down in Mount Vernon Square, which was outside the dampening field.

The Dananns brought them down onto a clear sidewalk space. Around them, abandoned cars clogged the streets. National Guard troops marched through, moving vehicles and setting up a line of defense to the south in the direction of the Mall. Civilians milled about, most running north and east, while others stood in confusion or fascination. Tanks rumbled into positions throughout the square as emergency vehicles swept south.

Laura held Whiting by the arm while she searched for Sinclair. She spotted him leaning over between two cars. “Jono, what the hell are you doing?” she shouted.