Vs Reality (15 page)

“What about the effects that these
people
are having?” Govinda fire back, his eyes narrowing to slits. Cole can almost see his patience wearing thin; the cool veneer being stripped away. “What about the chaos they’re causing with their powers? Property damage, injuries, and in some cases even deaths. If these people are able to use this Muse drug to
control
and master their abilities, the potential for destruction is unlimited. Can you imagine the death toll
then?
That’s a risk that the New World Council simply isn’t willing to take.”

“Maybe. But there’s the potential for
good
here, too. Imagine if people harnessed these powers and used them to help people. It could bring us all closer together.” He’s stalling, and hopes Govinda doesn’t notice. He can see the pill in Govinda’s outstretched palm, begging to be snatched away. If he can just grab it and dry-swallow the capsule before this psychopath realizes what’s happening, maybe he can trigger. Although that’s one too many ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ for his liking.

“People are
sheep
,” Govinda says in a dry, condescending tone, “They will never come together, and they don’t need to hold hands and sing campfire songs. What they need a strong leader to
tell
them what’s best.”

“You can’t just drug people in to being who you want them to be,” Cole says.

Govinda bears his teeth with a disturbing, predatory smile – a knowing gesture that sends a prickle of fear up Cole’s spine. “We already have.”

Last chance
, he thinks, eyeing the blue pill as inconspicuously as possible. “And if I refuse your offer?”
Now is the time
.

A moment of hesitation and Govinda snaps his hand closed, dropping it back into his pocket. “Refusing my offer would
very
be ill-advised,” he says gravely, “let’s just leave it at that. I need the criminals who are responsible for Muse, and I also need Dia Davenport. They’re in that building,” he says, extending a gold ringed finger over Cole’s shoulder, “and I’m getting them out one way or another. Help me help
them
, and you will be rewarded generously. This entire situation can be resolved peacefully – it doesn’t have to become a war.”

“I think it already has,” Cole mutters, not much louder than a whisper.

“You know what they say about joining a war,” Govinda offers in a strangely avuncular tone, “if you have nothing personal at stake, it’s a wise decision to join the side that’s going to win.”

Cole shoves the contract back towards Govinda and he refuses to take it, brushing it off with a gentle wave.

“Take a few minutes and consider your options. Really
think about what you want to do with your future, Donovan Cole – your
immediate
future. Some battles are worth it, and other times…well, it’s best to choose your battles.” He reaches out and taps the edge of the outstretched contract. “So think, but don’t take too long. This  expires the moment I walk away.”

The sun crests the skyline behind Govida, orange and burning against a windswept blue sky.
Is this the last time I’ll see a sunrise?
he thinks, and suddenly he doesn’t care. If he’s going to go down, he’s going to go down swinging. He tears the contract down the center and lets the pieces flutter to his sides.

“Unfortunate,” Govinda says, the harsh control in his voice becoming more pronounced. “I thought you’d be smarter than this.” He pulls a flat transparent cube from his pocket, thinner than a credit card but lit with a glowing heads-up display. He swipes his thumb along the device without breaking eye contact. “I’m initiating the protocol,” he commands. “Tear off the seal and prepare to move in. Wheels up in five, and I want you here in ten. Bring
everyone
: peacekeepers, SWAT, military if they’re available. This is it.”

Ice water spikes Cole’s veins and he freezes in place, feet bolted to the sidewalk…until Govinda inexplicably turns his back. The towering man raises a hand and mutters a single word: “Dismissed.”

Cole runs.

New York City
August 26, 2011
8:23 am, Eastern Daylight Time

Cole bursts through the penthouse door and races into the kitchen, chest heaving, calves on fire.

“What the hell, man?” Jens glances back over his shoulder, scrunching his face. “Did you take the stairs? You know there’s an elevator, right?”

“It’s him…” Cole wheezes, swallowing hard. “Govinda.” He hacks out a painful cough and wipes the sweat from his forehead. “He’s…he’s coming.”

“We know,” Brodie says with a lopsided smirk, gesturing towards the open laptop with two hands. “It’s kind of why we decided to crack out the whole Plan B thing.”

“No…” Cole waves him off. “I don’t mean he’s coming, as in, the near future. I mean he’s outside on the street,
right now
. Ready to come up here.”

“Why didn’t he just kill you?” Paige asks. She seems equal parts surprised and skeptical, if Cole had to guess.

He staggers to the kitchen table and pulls a chair beneath him. “It’s not me that Govinda wants to kill…he actually offered me a job. He wants me to help bring you guys in; Dia, and everyone responsible for Muse. And according to him, they have the entire New World Council in their pocket.”

“I knew it,” Paige grumbles under her breath.

“This whole ‘new era of government transparency’ gimmick that they’re pushing is bullshit,” Cole explains. “They hired a team of hit men to track down everyone who can manifest, and they want us eliminated quickly and quietly.”

Jens takes a seat next to Cole, nervously drumming his fingers into the table’s marble surface. “So…now what?”

“So now we wait,” Cole says, glancing across the table at Dia. “And we get ready to fight back.”

Paige looks deep into her sister’s eyes. “You’re the key player, Dia. This plan won’t work without you. But if you want to walk, I can’t stop you.” She reaches across the table and their fingers entwine. A heartbeat passes and something changes…it’s as if Paige’s touch infused her sister with a pang of guilt or nostalgia or some sense of fraternal duty. Whatever it was, it was the tipping point in Dia’s decision. She’d made up her mind.

Everyone sitting at the table gives each other an affirmation. A nod, a glance. No one speaks, but it’s clear that they’re all in agreement.

“All right then,” Paige announces. “Brodie, grab the case.”

Hidden in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink is a silver briefcase. Brodie struggles to pull it out, cradling it with both arms. He hauls it across the room and drops it on the table; it hits the marble surface like he’d just dropped a safe filled with concrete. The armored case is protected by more hinges and locks and keypads than Cole thought physically possible, and thick sheets of metal armor both sides. This thing doesn’t just look bullet proof – it seems like it could withstand a nuclear explosion.

Brodie takes great care in unlatching every lock and typing a combination into the digital key pad. Finally (and after more fanfare than Paige was willing to sit through, by the look on her face) the lid flips open with the quiet hiss of hydraulics.

“So what’s inside?” Cole asks.

“Michelangelo painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, Leonardo da Vinci created the Mona Lisa, and Brodie Hamilton designed Plan B.” Beaming with pride, Brodie points to a series of compact syringe-like devices, filled with vials of brilliant blue liquid. They’re meticulously stored, embedded in protective foam to prevent damage. He gingerly lifts one of the syringes out of its container, holding it to the light. “If Muse is a Ferrari, the Plan B serum is a G6 jet. One shot and you don’t just manifest bro, you’ll be going mach three with your hair on fire.”

Cole arches a skeptical eyebrow, not completely sold on Brodie’s hyperbolic description. “All right, that sounds pretty intense. But is this shit safe?”

“Oh, for sure.”  Brodie removes the protective cap and passes the syringe to Cole. “Well, this will be my first
actual
test with a full dosage, but I’m totally confident.”

Cole stares at the syringe, shaking his head. “A pill is one thing, but shooting some mystery liquid into my veins…?” What’s next? he thinks: a blue powder they’ll ask him to snort off a mirror using a rolled up dollar bill?

“It’s up to you,” Brodie replies with an indifferent shrug. “But with the cavalry on their way I think you might want something that packs a little more punch than Muse. Just be careful with the timing; this will get you from zero-to-sixty in like, a nanosecond, but you’ll burn out
fast
. Before you know it you’ll be out of fuel and back to your boring-ass self.”

As Brodie discusses his serum with Cole, Dia wanders towards the living room, staring absently out the window. She notices some unusual movement over the skyline, washed out by the hazy orange sunlight. Three dark objects are rapidly approaching. Helicopters.

“
Shit
they’re already here! Brodie, call the lobby and tell Franco to get out
now
.”

Paige bangs out a few rapid keystrokes on her laptop and a video window winks open, filling the monitor. It’s the security cam pointing towards the lobby’s front entrance. It’s a sea of black helmets and armored vests; heavily-armed soldiers marching through the corridor, flooding the staircase and pouring into the elevators. And Franco is nowhere to be seen.

“It’s too late,” Brodie says. “They’re already in. They must have nabbed Franco before he had a chance to sound the alarm for us.”

“Damn it,” Paige shouts, slapping her palms into the table.

“Come on. We need to move – there’s nothing we can do for him now.” Dia yanks a syringe from Brodie’s case, pops off the safety cap with her thumb, and presses the sharp end of the device deep in to the soft tissue of her forearm. She pushes down on the plunger and the syringe hisses, emptying the vial into her bloodstream. She winces, shudders, and then the empty syringe shatters across the floor. She bends at the waist, feverishly rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“Shit, Dia!” Cole races to her side.

Before he can reach her she snaps upright as if she’s being electrocuted; eyes wide, hair glittering gold, pupils illuminated like burning blue magma. She spreads her hands wide, fingertips leaving traces of swirling energy in their wake.

“Whoa,” Brodie says, unable to suppress his giddiness. “I think that’s our first successful test.”

With the exception of Jens everyone extracts a syringe from the open briefcase.

Paige gestures towards the front door. “Cole, take the service elevator down with Jens and Brodie. The staircases will be blocked and it’s the only path to the street-level exit. You’ll hit resistance but you should be able to handle it.”

She doesn’t offer any further instructions, though at this point Cole would certainly appreciate them. While Paige scrambles to gather a few last-minute belongings before rushing out the door, he wants to ask what her definition of ‘handle it’ is, though in all honesty he knows the answer – pressuring her to say the words aloud won’t offer him any comfort. He’s expected to act as a blunt instrument, to attack with impunity. Kill if necessary. After he’d heard Paige’s account of what Govinda and the Collectors were responsible for, he felt that any use of force would be more than justified, and he’d sleep soundly in his bed regardless of what he had to do. He draws a deep breath, balling his fists. He’s ready for this. His coach’s words ring through his head; Gary would often say, ‘If you step into the ring, be ready to go out on your shield.’ Legend has it that the mothers of Spartans would offer their sons that same ominous pep-talk before sending them off to war. When a Spartan went into battle, after all, there were only two options: win for the glory of your nation or go down fighting – and if the latter was the case, be carried home on your shield (as was customary, signifying that the warrior gave his life for a great purpose). No desertion was tolerated, and retreat was never an option.

Unlike the mantra repeated to overzealous Greeks thundering towards Thermopylae, Gary meant the phrase metaphorically. Telling an athlete to ‘go out on their shield’ in the context of a sporting event is a powerful motivational tool, to be sure; it’s basically synonymous with ‘don’t give up’, but with a manlier vibe. Although sustaining an extra uppercut or refusing to tap out to a choke hold wasn’t going to result in agonizing death. Fighting a small battalion of trained killers armed with no more than a syringe filled with blue liquid? Now
that
certainly could.

Facing the grim reality of the potential consequences lying ahead, he’s confronted with another, more disturbing fact: he’s a linchpin in this plan. They all were. It was a Rube Goldberg-esque series of events that needed to unfold in a very specific order, or the entire machine would fall apart. If Paige is wrong, and he
can’t
handle whatever awaits him on the ground floor, there’s a good chance that he won’t be the only one going out on his shield this bright summer morning.

Cole pauses in the threshold of the penthouse door and glances back at Dia, looking ethereal and radiant and otherworldly, standing in a haze of swirling blue mist.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” she calls out, offering a reassuring nod.

One way or another, he thinks, she’s probably right.