The Gathering: Quantum Prophecy 2 (4 page)

Danny glanced down at the stump of his right arm. His shirtsleeve was folded over and pinned up.

“You’re going to have to go back to school soon.”

“I know. But there’s only another couple of days before Christmas. I’ll go back with the others in January.”

Mrs. Cooper walked over to the table and picked up the magazine Danny had been reading. “You did the Sudoku puzzle.” The little squares had been filled in with Danny’s shaky left-handed writing. “And the crossword.”

Danny flexed his left hand. “It’s still hard to write, but I’m getting better. I keep reaching for the pen with the wrong arm.”

“And you always had such lovely handwriting!” She looked as though she was about to cry.

The kitchen door opened and Niall walked in. “Colin’s on the telly,” he said.

“What?
Our
Colin?” Danny asked. “Colin Wagner?”

“Yeah. And he’s dressed up as Kid Titan too.”

Danny and his mother exchanged a glance. “Must be someone else, Niall,” Danny said.

“See for yourself then if you don’t believe me!” Niall said.

They followed Niall back to the sitting room.

“See?” Niall said, pointing at the screen. Two newsreaders—a man and a woman—sat behind their desk. On the screen behind them was a photo of Diamond and Titan. Niall turned up the volume.

“…when a blaze broke out at the store less than an hour ago,” the man was saying. “Though the cause of the fire itself is still unknown, there are some fears that it might have been started deliberately. But the most remarkable aspect of this story is the rescue of five people—one member of the staff and four customers—who had been trapped on the upper floor.” The screen cut to a shaky, grainy image of Renata and Colin running into the building. The words “Amateur film” appeared in the corner of the screen. The newsreader continued: “The teenage superhumans known as Kid Titan and Diamond—seen here entering the building—braved the intense heat and managed to get the trapped shoppers to safety by knocking out a window and dropping them…”

Danny pulled the remote control from Niall’s hands and hit the mute button.

“Told you,” Niall said. “That’s Colin.”

“Rubbish!”

“It is!” Niall insisted. “And Diamond must be his girlfriend Renata.”

“Renata is
not
Colin’s girlfriend!” Danny said.

“Well, she lives in his house and she’s always hanging around with him.”

“Sweetheart, Renata is Colin’s cousin from America,” Mrs. Cooper said, lowering herself into her armchair.

Niall gave her a look that made it clear he didn’t believe that. “Even so. That doesn’t mean they’re not Diamond and Kid Titan.”

The screen changed again, this time showing Kid Titan and Diamond leaving the building and being ambushed by the reporter. This film was a lot clearer than the previous one, but luckily the two heroes were both covered in so much soot that it wasn’t any easier to recognize them.

“See?” Danny said. “He’s nothing like Colin!” He waited until Colin and Renata had left, then turned the sound back up.

“So there you have it,” the reporter said, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Two brave young heroes, risking their lives to save others. They’re clearly not seeking publicity or fame, but it seems that their selfless actions will bring them fame regardless. This is Barney Macintosh, reporting for Channel 6 News.”

The screen switched to show the newsreaders in the studio. The woman said, “That report from Barney Macintosh. Prior to this evening, only a handful of blurred images of these new heroes had emerged, leaving many people to believe that they were nothing more than a hoax, but as our exclusive footage has just shown, no one can now doubt the existence of Diamond and Kid Titan.”

The male newsreader chuckled. “Don’t you mean
Titan
, Diana?”

She returned his chuckle. “That’s right. He doesn’t seem to like being called a kid. Well, I think his actions today have proved that though Titan might be young, in some ways he’s very definitely a grown-up!”

Watching this, Danny didn’t know whether to be happy for Colin or jealous.
If I hadn’t lost my powers…I could have been there with them. In fact, I would have been so fast that by the time Renata and Colin arrived at the scene I could have rescued everyone and put the fire out all by myself.

He looked again at where his right arm used to be. In the past few days, Danny had taken to wondering whether losing his arm was worse than losing his powers.
I was only a superhuman for a couple of days
, he thought,
and my speed wasn’t even reliable, but…

Then there was the vision. He hadn’t told anyone about it. Not Façade, not Renata, not even Colin.

He had seen a vision of himself—not that much older than he was now—leading an army that could destroy the world. They were running from…someone. The vision had been too vague for him to make out many details. But one thing was certain: in that vision, Danny’s future self had a mechanical right arm.

Danny’s mother said, “Oh, not
him
again.”

Danny looked back at the television set. On screen, standing at a podium in front of an American flag, was a tall, overweight, bearded man. The caption below the screen read “Trutopians’ new leader Reginald Kinsella.”

Kinsella was responding to a question. “No, the Trutopian movement has always been dedicated to the better qualities of humanity and always will be. We
have
no political agenda. Not in the way that you mean. That is not going to change under my leadership. If you’ve read our press releases you’ll already know this. We accept all races, all creeds. All we ask is that anyone wishing to join our society be willing to obey our rules. Yes, we
do strictly enforce those rules, but there’s nothing outlandish. They are simply a set of codes by which most decent, law-abiding people already live.”

Another man raised his hand. “Mr. Kinsella, what about the reports that your followers are—”

Kinsella interrupted him. “
My
followers? The people who’ve joined our movement are not following me, Mr. Lincoln. They’re following the Trutopian principles.” He counted off on his fingers. “One: do no harm. Two: help the less fortunate. Three: pay your taxes and pay your bills. Then you will be taken care of.”

“But what about people who
can’t
pay their taxes, Mr. Kinsella? Suppose someone joins the Trutopians, moves to one of your gated communities and then loses his job? What then?”

“Then we will give that person work until he can find a job that suits him. You know the statistics: over twelve percent of our people work in security. We have the safest communities in the world. There has yet to be a single crime committed by a member of the Trutopian movement. We have no crime, no poverty, no bigotry.”

Another hand was raised. “So what’s the point of having the largest private police force in the world if you don’t have any crime?”

Kinsella took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. “We don’t have any crime
because
we have the largest private police force in the world.”

The same man asked, “So is that why you want to recruit the new heroes? You want them to work for you?”

“I want them to work
with
us, not for us. That’s the purpose of this session. No one knows how to get in touch with them, so
I’m making a public appeal.” Kinsella turned toward the camera. “Diamond, Kid Titan…If you’re watching this, I’m asking you to get in touch with your nearest Trutopian community. Join us and we will provide you with all the assistance you will ever need. We will house your families, provide them with good jobs and unparalleled education. The Trutopian goal is in the name: Truth and Utopia. We are aiming to make this world a better place—
for everyone.
Join us. Save the world.”

With that, Kinsella stepped back from his podium.

Danny looked at his mother. She was looking back at him. “No way,” Danny said. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“It sounds…”

“It sounds too good to be true. That usually means that it’s not true. Besides…I can’t do anything anymore.”

“They might still be interested. It could be worth phoning them. Just to see.”

“What are you talking about?” Niall asked, looking from one to the other.

Before Danny could reply, the television once again cut back to the newsreaders in the studio. “Breaking news just in,” the male newsreader said, clearly excited. “Another Channel 6 exclusive! It seems that following this evening’s rescue of five people from a burning toy store, new heroes Diamond and Kid Titan saved a young couple from four men attempting to mug them. Apparently, the heroes managed to scare off the muggers, but not before Kid Titan was knocked unconscious.”

Danny suddenly sat up straight.

The newsreader continued: “One of the muggers’ intended
victims—part-time nurse Jacqueline Caldwell—used her mobile phone’s built-in camera to take this photograph of Kid Titan.”

The screen showed a grainy low-resolution photo of Colin, unconscious and unmasked, lying on the ground.

Niall squealed and was practically jumping up and down with excitement. “I told you Colin was Kid Titan!” he shouted at Danny. “I
told
you!”

A
LMOST FIVE THOUSAND MILES AWAY, IN
the Chinese city of Jiamusi, a gunman lay on the balcony of his luxury hotel room, a high-powered rifle in his hands.

The gunman was in his midforties, though little about his physical features gave that away. He was completely bald—lacking even eyelashes—and his pallid, mottled skin was a network of thick red and white scars. He was tall, but slightly built, with long wiry arms ending in thin nail-less fingers.

He had not moved from his position since before dawn, staring through the rifle’s telescopic sight, which was fixed on a specific window of the apartment block across the busy street.

Through the sight the gunman could see only a small portion of the room opposite, but he had chosen his location carefully: that portion of the room contained a mirror, and reflected in that mirror he could see part of an occupied bed.

Then the occupant of the bed stirred, reached out to shut off an alarm clock.

Finally
, the gunman said to himself. Barely moving, he reached into his shirt pocket and removed a single bullet-shaped pellet. He used his teeth to tear open the pellet’s plastic coating, slipped the pellet into the rifle and waited, finger on the trigger.

Two minutes later, the apartment’s window opened—as he knew it would—and directly in his line of sight was a woman’s bare arm.

He squeezed the trigger. The rifle made a faint
phut!
sound and the arm was instantly pulled back.

The gunman waited long enough to watch—through the mirror—the woman climb back into bed, yawning.

Now—move!
He quickly crawled backward, into the hotel room, disassembling his rifle as he went.

Getting to his feet, he dropped the rifle’s components into a black canvas bag, slung it over his shoulder, then quickly and quietly darted from the room.

The gunman silently raced along the corridor and dashed quickly past the room occupied by the businessman who—for some unfathomable reason—never fully closed his door.

As he ran, the gunman pulled a forged key-card out of his pocket. The previous day, he had picked the pocket of the guest staying in room 1102, duplicated the card, then left the original where it could easily be found in the hotel’s lobby.

Directly ahead was room 1102: the gunman slipped the card into the lock and stepped through.

Inside, a startled man was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eating toast and reading a newspaper. He barely had time to say, “What…?” before the gunman emptied the contents of a small aerosol canister into his face.

The man collapsed backward, unconscious.

The gunman checked the hotel guest’s pulse.
Good. Strong and steady. He’ll sleep for about four hours and won’t remember a thing.

The gunman opened the balcony doors and peered out. His car was parked in the alley below, ten floors down. He pulled a
thin rope out of his canvas bag, connected the quick-release hook to the balcony’s railing and vaulted over the edge.

Hand over hand, he quickly rappelled down the rope, dropping the last two meters. A quick, sharp tug on the rope and the hook above automatically disconnected. He caught the hook, then ran for his car, coiling the rope as he went.

He had his car keys in his hand and was reaching for the lock when the car’s windshield suddenly shattered.

The gunman instantly vaulted over the car, just as a hail of silenced bullets plowed through the air, barely missing him.

Damn it! I knew they’d try something like this!

Then a voice called out, “Mr. Jackson? You would do well to surrender!”

“Perfect,” he muttered to himself. “It’s Junior.”

“We know your methods, Mr. Jackson! We know you never carry any lethal weapons on a mission where you’re not expected to kill! We have you outnumbered. There is nothing you can do!”

Right
, the gunman thought.
You think you know me. You think I’m some honorable assassin who always plays by a set of rules. Well, if you think I didn’t see this coming you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

He reached into the canvas bag and pulled out a Heckler and Koch P7K3 semiautomatic pistol, a small snub-nosed weapon that in the right hands could be deadly accurate.

Lying flat on his back, the gunman crawled halfway under the car and looked out. He could see three pairs of feet. Two of his would-be killers had their feet spread apart: the stance of someone proficient with a powerful handgun.
Junior’s bodyguards.

He aimed and fired four times in quick succession, hitting the bodyguards’ ankles. The men fell to the ground screaming.

The remaining set of feet shuffled, then turned and ran.

The gunman rolled out from under the car and charged after the young Chinese man.

Junior had almost reached the entrance to the alley when the gunman floored him with a flying kick to the small of his back.