Generation 18: The Spook Squad 2 (27 page)

“I can’t. At least not until I know my partner is safe.”

“Your partner? The man who has been trying to get rid of you?” He made no attempt to disguise the derision in his voice.

“Yeah, that one.” She shrugged. “He saved my life. Now his life is in danger.”

“Then find him and get far away from the general.”

“Finding him is the problem. His sister seems to think we have formed some sort of mind bond, but when I tried to find him through it, all I got were his emotions and pain.”

Joe didn’t answer immediately, though his essence continued to swirl around her. “Your talents are only now truly developing—and as yet, no one can be really sure which way that development will head. One thing is obvious, though. It will not be standard.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Another riddle?”

“No. A simple truth.” He hesitated. “Maybe this linking with Stern, at least on your side, is one springing more from emotional than rational thought. Perhaps your ability is empathic rather than telepathic.”

“And yet, here I am, talking to you.”

Again she felt his smile. “This is very different. This is something neither of us can really stop or control.”

“Why not?”

“The answers will—”

“Yeah,” she retorted. “I know the rest of the rhyme, so don’t bother.”

“If you wish to find your partner, leave tonight and go to where he was last seen.”

She frowned. “Why tonight?”

“It storms.”

“Yeah? So?”

Impatience ran around her. “Just go, and you will see. For now, I must go.”

His essence, and the white room, fled. She woke suddenly. Rain pelted against the window to the right of her bed. Lightning cut across the night, and the power of it stirred the air, filling her soul. She breathed deeply. Every pore seemed to tingle with the storm’s energy.

From beyond the doorway came the sound of footsteps, a tattoo that was both angry and impatient. Jessie appeared. Water dripped from her burgundy coat, splashing across the tiles as she walked over to Sam’s bed.

“What happened?” Inane question, when all she had to do was look into Jessie’s eyes and see the answer. They hadn’t found Gabriel.

“We found his wristcom, but nothing else. There was no clue as to where they might have gone.”

Sam rubbed her forehead. Joe had told her to go to the warehouse. Though she had no idea why, she wasn’t about to doubt him. Not when Gabriel’s life might be at risk.

“Where’s Director Byrne?”

“Interviewing Whittiker again.”

She almost felt sorry for Orrin. Almost. “You have to take me to that warehouse.”

Jessie frowned. “Samantha, you’re in no condition—”

“Yeah, right,” she snapped back. “Like you were so concerned about my condition down in the holding cell.”

Jessie had the grace to look uncomfortable.

“Do you want to save your brother or not?” she continued.

“Of course I do. But you can’t even walk.”

“That was hours ago. I’m better now.” Even if she wasn’t, she had no intention of mentioning it. She owed Gabriel—though certainly not any of his damn relations—and she intended to repay that debt. Then she’d be free to leave and get back to a normal life, with normal people.

But could anything ever be normal when her discovery of her true nature was only just beginning? Deep down, she suspected not.

Indecision rolled across Jessie’s face. “Stephan’s ordered that you be kept here. That under no circumstances are you to be allowed to leave.”

Obviously he had plans to cross-examine her again if Orrin failed to deliver. “I think I may be able to find Gabriel, but I need to get out of here now. I can’t wait for Stephan.”

“I’m not SIU. I can’t countermand Stephan’s orders.”

“Then call him. Tell him if he wants to find his goddamn brother, he has to trust me, and he has to release me.”

“I don’t think he’ll listen.”

“Try.”

Jessie nodded and walked from the room. Sam stripped the covers away and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

Her right leg, from thigh to knee, was a scarred, red mess. But at least it was a healing scarred, red mess. Though the skin pinched slightly when she moved, it didn’t seem to restrict her. Nor did it hurt. She rotated her shoulder. Again, though there was a definite tightness in the skin, she could move it without pain. How was this possible only a few hours after being shot? She didn’t know, and right now she didn’t really care.

All that mattered was getting to Gabriel before time ran out.

She padded across the cell to get her clothes, the tiles cold under her feet. She dressed quickly, then went back to bed—just in case one of the med staff walked in before the clearance came through for her to be up and about.

But come through it did.

Ten minutes later, she walked out of the building and into the power of the rain-swept night.

G
ABRIEL WOKE TO THE SOUND
of pacing—short, vicious steps that spoke of anger and frustration more eloquently than any words.

He lay on the floor of an office of some kind. The star-shaped base of a chair sat less than a foot away from his head. Beyond that, he could see the sturdy metal legs of a desk. The carpet underneath him rubbed almost harshly against his skin, and it was a practical gray color. It was the sort of hard-wearing carpet they used in state-owned buildings and in housing developments.

That he was no longer in the warehouse was obvious. He shifted fractionally, trying to see the rest of the room. Bad move. Pain shot through his body, a red wave of heat that left him not only gasping for air but soaked in sweat.

The tattoo beat of violence hesitated and then headed his way. Boots appeared before him, wavering in and out of focus. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the sweat from his vision, then opened them again. The boots were still there. Black and practical. The kind worn by the State Police force.

He looked up. Even that slight movement forced new rivulets of sweat to run down his forehead.

Rose stared down at him, her eyes as dark as the night-dark window at her back. “Good to see you’re finally awake, Assistant Director.”

Despite the cheerfulness of her tone, the fury in her eyes suggested all had not gone well.

“I wish I could say the same.”

Her smile was thin, bitter. “The arm hurts a little, does it?”

She nudged it with the tip of her boot. Pain tore through his body, and he gritted his teeth against the scream that tore at his throat. He glared at her through the drips of sweat. “Bitch.”

“Yes, I am.” She laughed and turned away. “You didn’t tell me about your partner, Assistant Director.”

Something cold ran through him. Rose had shot Sam. “You didn’t ask.”

“True.” Rose leaned against the front of the desk, contemplating him silently for a few moments. “What is she? I was under the impression she was a changer, but her survival of the Jadrone suggests a shifter of some kind. One who is sensitive to others of her kind.”

“Something like that.” It was obvious from the annoyance etched into Rose’s features that Sam
had
managed to stop her, and had been shot for her efforts. At least she wasn’t dead—he would have known if she were.

“It’s unfortunate, you know, as it calls for a change in plans.”

And he was supposed to be sorry about that? Anything that sidetracked this woman’s mad schemes
had
to be a good thing. “Try my shape again. You never know. You might get through a second time.”

“I am not a fool, Assistant Director. Please don’t treat me like one.”

There was no point in replying. He carefully ran his fingers up his injured arm until he found the laser wound. The cut felt clean, but his arm was definitely broken. Which was no real problem, because his shapechanger bones healed extraordinarily fast. He just had to set the bones straight, and the healing would begin. He could also feel an ominous damp patch under his right shoulder, but he had no idea where that blood was coming from.

“You stated before that the SIU does not bargain for its operatives,” she said. “You’d better hope that you’re wrong, because it’s your only chance to live.”

“Then there’s no chance at all.” Nursing his shattered limb with his right arm, he rolled fully onto his back. To say it hurt would be an understatement, but he needed to see where he was. The room was small, and the only exit points were the window behind the desk and the two doors, one opposite to where he lay and the other close to his left. He could hear no sound beyond this room. Hopefully, it meant it was just him and Rose here.

“I want Director Byrne’s silent number,” she continued.

He gave it to her. If she thought to get around the automatic tracing by using Stephan’s silent number, then she was very wrong.

He waited almost impatiently for her to grab the phone. All he needed was for her attention to be diverted for a second or two, and he was up and out the door. His arm might be shattered, but he still had two good legs. And the desperation to survive was a mighty fine painkiller.

Rose picked up the laser near the phone and pointed it in his direction. “Move and you die.”

She set the phone to speaker and dialed the number he’d given her. After several rings, Stephan’s familiar voice came online.

“Byrne here.”

“Director Byrne. How nice to finally speak to you.”

There was a brief silence. Though the trace was automatic, he knew Stephan was now ordering a second trace to start, this time involving satellites to track the exact location.

“Who is this?”

Rose glanced at her watch. As a cop, she’d know the call would be traced, but he doubted if she knew it could be tracked via satellite as well. That capability was a well-kept secret.

“I think you know who this is, Director. Shall we cut to the chase?”

“What do you want, Rose?”

“You know what I want. I have something to offer in exchange.”

“You must know we do not make exchanges for the lives of our operatives. We can’t afford to.”

“Then you condemn him to death.”

The silence seemed to stretch forever. Gabriel nursed his arm and wished, for the first time in his life, he knew what was going on in his brother’s mind. They both knew the rules—they both knew the risks of being caught in a situation like this. Both knew that, in the end, there was no real choice.

But had it been
him
on the other end of the phone, he would have found some way to give them another choice.

“Let me speak to him,” Stephan said eventually. “I want to know if he’s still alive.”

“Oh, he’s alive. Bleeding, sweating and silently cursing me, but he’s definitely alive.” She motioned toward the phone with the gun. “Speak to the man, Assistant Director.”

“Here, sir,” he said.

“Situation?”

Rose clicked the safety off the gun. A soft whine filled the room as the laser powered to full.

He took heed of the warning. “As she said.”

“Enough,” Rose cut in. “I want an answer, Director, and I want it fast.”

“Look, I haven’t the power for a decision like this. I need to go higher.”

Rose glanced at her watch again. “You have precisely two hours. Then he dies.”

“Just make sure he lives until you get my damn—”

Rose hit the receiver, cutting him off. “Four seconds until the trace was complete. That will really piss him off, don’t you think?”

Maybe. Maybe not. It depended on how fast the satellites got into action.

Rose reset the laser. “I’m afraid there’s a lot more to do, the least of which is ensuring you don’t bleed to death within the next couple of hours. Can’t have my insurance policy expiring before its proper time, now, can I?”

The woman was certifiably crazy. “It’s not something I want, I can assure you of that.”

She gave him a thin smile. “No doubt,” she said, and squeezed the trigger.

Gabriel swore and rolled away from the beam. His injured arm hit the floor, and agony exploded. Then the second burst of laser fire hit, sweeping him into unconsciousness.

Sam studied the warehouse through the Mustang’s rain-washed window. Even with the headlights on high beam, the building was little more than a hunched shadow in the stormy night.

“I can’t see what coming out here is going to achieve,” Jessie said, leaning on the steering wheel to peer through the windshield. “We went over everything already. There’s nothing here to find.”

“Maybe.” But she had to try, at the very least. “You’d better wait here. No sense in both of us getting wet.”

Jessie’s gaze was dubious. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Sam opened the car door. The wind snatched it from her hands, flinging it fully open. She winced. “Sorry about that.”

Jessie shrugged. “There’s a flashlight in the glove compartment. Grab that.”

Sam did, even though she didn’t really need it. With all the lightning, the night was almost as bright as day. She climbed out and slammed the door shut. The wind tore at her hair, blowing it in all directions. The rain sheeted down, sluicing off her coat and soaking into her boots. Yet in the wildness, there was power. She could feel it running across her skin, crackling across her fingertips. She breathed deeply, drawing that energy inside, feeling it surge through every pore, every fiber, although she wasn’t entirely sure how this would help her to find Gabriel.

She walked toward the warehouse. The wind howled through the shattered windows lining the front of the building—an eerie sound that had goose bumps fleeing across her skin. Mixed with this moaning was the high-pitched scream of metal as the wind tore at the roofing. It sounded like the dead being tortured.

Shoving her hands in her coat pockets, and half-wishing she’d brought some gloves, Sam made her way down the side of the building. It briefly protected her from the full force of the wind, though the night was still bitterly cold. Thunder pealed in the distance. She began counting the seconds, but she had barely gotten to three before jagged lightning split the night sky. The center of the storm was only a mile away. Whether this would make any difference to what might happen, she wasn’t sure.

She reached the back and came out of the protection of the building. The wind slapped against her, forcing her to stagger several steps before she regained her footing. Lightning tore through the sky again. In the residual brightness, she saw the ramp and loading bay. This was it. This was where Gabriel had gotten shot.

She walked forward slowly, not toward the loading bay, but away from it. He’d been flying when he was hit, striving upward to escape the loading bay. He wouldn’t have come down close to it.

Overhead, thunder rumbled again. The power of the storm echoed through her—a force that filled her, completed her, in a way she couldn’t even begin to understand or hope to explain. When she clenched her hands, sparks danced across her knuckles, a visible sign of the energy coursing through her being.

It scared her. Terrified her. But if this power helped her find Gabriel, then she’d use it and worry about the consequences later.

She splashed through puddles, following the rain-slick pavement toward the rear of the property. Hopefully, there she’d find a clue that Stephan and Jessie had missed.

The fence line came into view. The double gates leading out of the property were padlocked. She turned left and walked along the perimeter, following instinct and hoping it wasn’t leading her astray.

Again, the sky rumbled. In the following flash of lightning, she saw something flapping wildly in the wind-torn darkness. A piece of material, caught in the fence.

She splashed quickly through the mud. The material was dark gray and felt like silk. The sort of material Gabriel favored in his jackets. She tore the strip free and rubbed it between her fingers. He must have snagged his jacket on the fence as he fell. She hoped his jacket was the only casualty.

Thunder reverberated. Its power shuddered through her, and energy, as bright as the lightning itself, sparked again between her fingertips, this time dancing over the small strip of material.

Power hit her with the force of a hammer. She grunted and dropped to her knees, splashing mud into her face. But she ignored that and clenched the material tight, struggling to breathe under the weight of the energy running around her, through her.

Images struck—jagged pieces of information that knifed through her mind. A suburb full of redbrick houses. A street name. A factory perched between two supermarkets. A “For Sale” sign out front, bearing the number 52. Gabriel, pale and unconscious, stretched out on a gray carpet.

The power faded, leaving her trembling and gasping for breath. She shuddered and swiped the muddy water dripping from her nose. What the hell was that? And how had Joe known it would happen? Jesus, she had to find out just who he was and how he knew so much.

But right now that was not her main priority. She struggled upright, the material still clenched in her hand. But with most of the night’s power having left her system, it was little more than a sodden strip. Even so, it was proof that he’d been here, proof that she’d found what they could not. A clue. A possible hope.