Burn (6 page)

He gestures for Livia to stand up. She watches him with wide blue eyes. Graham motions me toward the dining room. I walk as slowly as possible.

Mrs. Scolina strokes the little girl’s back. “Just tell them we’re not interested, sweetheart. That’s all you have to do.” Livia hops off her mom’s lap, still looking uncertain.

Red-haired Mack gives her a five. “Get me one. I’m hungry.” He leads Livia to the entryway and presses himself against the wall, his gun in his hand.

She heads for the door with the bill clutched in her little fist. My heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe. I’m too far away to help her if this doesn’t go well. The door squeaks as she opens it, and then I hear Will’s voice.

“Hey, kiddo. Is your mom home? Soccer fund-raiser. We got some good candy.” The crinkling of a wrapper punctuates his words. From where he’s standing, he’ll only be able to see her, and not the armed agents listening to the conversation. I pray he sticks to the plan—we’ve done enough pranks together for me to know that’s not a guarantee, even though I stressed the life-or-deathness of this particular situation to him before we set out.

“We have caramel, too,” Leo offers. I picture him, shuffling his feet and sliding a pack off his shoulder. He’s got on one of Will’s soccer jerseys, and it’s hanging from his scrawny frame. I hope the agents don’t catch sight of him and notice the overlarge soccer cleats tied to his feet.

But based on the sounds coming from the entryway, all is well. They both seem harmless, just two high school kids trying to raise some cash for their team. Livia asks for one bar, and when Will tells her she’s got enough money for two, she shyly asks for a caramel. It’s perfect. Mack has holstered his weapon now. From his concealed position next to the Scolinas, Congers rolls his eyes and looks at his watch, probably annoyed by the frivolous distraction.

I hear Will’s cleats on the hardwood floor of the entryway and the
thunk
of his bag as he sets it down and digs inside. “Let’s see. I have change somewhere.”

“I’ve got some,” Leo says, unzipping his pack.

Livia gasps, and a hissing noise fills the entryway. The agents’ eyes go wide, but they move too slowly. I shove Graham hard and jump between the Scolinas and Congers as a flaming object whizzes down the hall, trailed by a plume of smoke. The room descends into chaos.

FIVE

WILL HURLS HIS ENTIRE DUFFEL DOWN THE HALL NEXT.
Smoke billows from it as it lands in the middle of the living room, several feet from the first smoke bomb. A fraction of a second later, two smaller smoke bombs bounce off the walls, spewing white-gray clouds. I lunge for Congers as he opens his mouth to shout an order. Gulping in one last lungful of clean air, I elbow him in the throat, knocking him backward before jerking his head down and kneeing him in the face. He slides to the floor as the fire alarms begin to shriek.

“Fire!” I hear Will shout from the hallway. “Call 9-1-1!” Hopefully the Scolinas’ neighbors are home and will do just that. We need as much confusion as possible.

Leo helps. His backpack comes hurtling down the hallway and lands near Will’s duffel, doubling the smoke and adding a bit of fire when the fabric ignites—the chemical reaction must have melted through the plastic casing.

My eyes burning, I yank my shirt over my mouth and nose. Mrs. Scolina screams, and I look up to see two figures wrestling in the living room—Mr. Scolina and Graham. Leo is on the floor with Mack, both of them coughing and gasping. As I run for the hallway to make sure Livia got out, Leo disarms the much larger man and pistol-whips his round head. Leo might be small, but he’s dead fast and knows what he’s doing.

Still standing in the doorway, Will meets my eyes, and I nod.

“Come on, baby girl,” he says, coiling an arm around Livia, who’s been huddled against the wall near the front door. He yanks her out of the apartment, heading for the stairwell. With any luck, he’ll be three blocks away before anyone notices she’s gone. I charge back into the living room, yank Graham’s gun from his holster as he struggles with Mr. Scolina, and press it against the young agent’s head. Clenching his teeth, Graham puts his hands up, and Mr. Scolina staggers back, coughing up a lung. His wife wraps her arms around him, and I smack Graham hard on the back of the head, dropping him to his knees.

“The fire escape!” I bark, but Leo’s already moving, taking Mrs. Scolina by the arm and dragging her through the dining room toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Christina’s there, waiting to get them down the metal stairs and out onto the street, ready to throw some smoke of her own if she needs to. I put my arm around Mr. Scolina’s back and guide him to the hallway, my lungs raging and stinging.

“My daughter,” he rasps.

“Will’s got Livia,” I say as I hustle him along. I can’t see anything now—I’m working by feel. My eyes don’t want to stay open—they’re streaming, blurring my vision. “And Christina’s right outside.”

I shove him into the dining room, groping for the wall, praying for some fresh air, dying to see Christina and know she’s there and okay and—

A hand grabs at my ankle and lurches me back, away from Mr. Scolina, who blunders through the dining room like a bull, knocking pictures to the floor with his shoulder. “Rachel!” he shouts to his wife as Graham plows into me from behind, knocking the weapon from my hand. I try to pivot around and meet the challenge, but steely fingers are still gripping my ankle, digging in. It’s Congers, on the floor where I left him, but very much conscious—and dangerous.

Graham punches me in the stomach, and I gasp, inhaling the smoke. My body goes into full-on rejection mode, doubling me over as my lungs try to turn themselves inside out. The other agents are hacking and stumbling, too, but Graham throws himself on top of me, knocking me to the floor. I land on my stomach. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Mack, bleeding from a gash in his freckled forehead, flings himself across the back of my legs before I can plant my foot in Congers’s face. I want to call for help . . . but who would I call? I need all of them to be safe. I don’t want them here in this smoky apartment, going down with me.

Meaty hands shove my face into the floor, grinding my skull against hardwood while someone grabs my arms and wrenches them behind my back. Before I can jerk myself away, handcuffs enclose my wrists.

“You bastards!” Leo shouts, crashing into one of the dark shapes hovering above me.

“We’ll take him, too,” says Congers, who’s gotten to his feet and is covering his nose and mouth with his suit jacket. “The fire alarms will draw the neighbors. We need to get out of here.”

I am rolled onto my back. They don’t give me a chance to make a move. There’s a hand on my throat and two bodies on mine, smashing my fingers between my ass and the floor. My ears ring.

Leo hits the ground next to me. “Sorry,” he huffs. I glance to the side. My eyes are the only thing I can move, and through the spots that crowd my vision, I see the blood flowing from his nose. His wire-framed glasses lie between us, lenses cracked.

He should have escaped when he had the chance. I’d roll my eyes, but I’m still fighting to breathe. Graham is sitting on my chest. I stare at the ceiling, though I can’t really see it through the haze.
Be okay, Christina,
I think.
Be safe.

“We’ll take them out through the basement,” Congers orders.

“And the others?” Mack asks before he starts to cough again, his face as red as his hair.

“Should we go after them?” Graham continues for him.

“No. We have what we want. Prepare these two for transport.” Congers wipes blood from his lips and prods Leo with his toe while Mack clamps a set of handcuffs on the kid. Leo clenches his teeth as he’s jerked onto his back and manages to stay silent even when his head cracks against the floor. Congers looks down at us. “Nap time, children.”

And that’s the last thing I hear before there’s a needle-sharp jab of pain in my thigh and a seeping heaviness unfurls within my body, sucking me down into the black.

• • •

The first thing that returns is the pain. Raw, hot, throbbing. My wrists, my ankle, my head. I stay very still and surf the rolling waves of nausea. Eyes closed, I listen, focusing on one sound at a time. The low hum of conversation. The deep vibration that tells me I’m in a moving vehicle. Somewhere in front of me, someone’s gasping, frightened.

“When did he say he’d arrive?” asks a male voice. Graham, I think.

“Twenty-three hundred hours,” replies Congers from right next to me. “The helo’s already left Charlottesville. We’ll go back into the city once we’re sure what we’re dealing with. Maybe this detour will end up working to our benefit.”

“Why bring the body here instead of DC? What can that scanner tell us that we don’t already know?” Graham asks.

My gut clenches. Congers must have the scanner. I wonder if it’s in this SUV.

Congers shifts in his seat, and I can almost feel his gaze on me. “Focus on the road, Graham.”

My eyes snap open. I’m staring at my legs, my head bowed. A seat belt keeps me upright. I’m sitting between two men in dark suits. Their jackets cover the bulges at their waists, but as I shift, my elbow bumps against the butt of Congers’s weapon. My wrists are shackled behind me. My shoulder muscles are screaming.

I slowly raise my head. A narrow two-lane road, headlights shining on the dotted white lines. Someone in this car isn’t wearing enough deodorant. The odor is coming from the squirming figure in front of me. Leo. He’s between two agents, too, in the middle row of this SUV. There are two more in the front—Graham and Mack. Somewhere along the way, we picked up three more agents. I have no idea how long I’ve been out, or what time it is, or where we are.

“Welcome back,” says Congers. He’s sitting on my right. “We’re getting close. We’ll get you two something to eat soon, as long as you’re cooperative.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper, staring straight ahead.

“Silly, immature words from a silly, immature boy,” he replies, sounding bored.

“How’s your buddy Race doing? My silliness worked pretty well against the last agents who came after me.”

“He’s been busy cleaning up the mess you made in Virginia. You’ll see him soon.”

Great.
“I’m not going to help you get into my dad’s lab.” Now that Christina and her family are safe, it’s about withstanding what they do to me, not people I care about. Except, unfortunately, Leo tried to help me, like an idiot, and so I have to decide what’s more important—him, or my father’s discoveries.

“I would think,” Congers says slowly, “that your father would have taught you to evaluate a situation thoroughly before shooting off your mouth. And yet that seems to be one of your most consistent characteristics.”

He’s right. My dad did teach me that. It was a quality he prized. And being reminded of that only pisses me off more. Then Congers slaps my thigh in a condescending way that makes me wish my hands were free so I could beat the shit out of him.

“We don’t have to be enemies, Tate, though I will be if you need one,” he says. “But please believe that you will regret it.”

“You’re the one who framed my dad as a terrorist, aren’t you?”

He looks me right in the eyes. “It was necessary.”

“Ruining a good man’s name was
necessary
?”

“Unfortunately, yes, seeing as his son set off a catastrophic incident that required extensive and decisive damage control. We kept it quiet for as long as we could, but information was leaking. The public required an overarching narrative to pacify them, and so we offered one that fit.”

I look away from his cold gaze and swallow hard. I still blame him for smearing my dad’s name . . . but I also blame myself. I force the thought down and look outside again. “Where are we going?”

“Your ridiculous rescue attempt drew a great deal of attention, and people were already on edge after what happened at your school on Monday. We decided to exit the city until our agents based there can assure us the scene has quieted down.”

He still hasn’t answered my question. Judging by the shadowy outlines of trees on either side of the road, we’re nowhere near Manhattan. I expected them to take me straight to my dad’s lab, but I guess I made that impossible, which seems like a good thing at the moment. I squint at the license plate of a minivan in front of us as Graham comes up on it hard and swerves into the oncoming lane to pass. Garden State. “Are we in Jersey?”

“We have a lab of our own,” says Congers with a smile. “Conveniently, it’s also a place where no one will hear you scream if I decide to make that happen. Or maybe I should just work on this one and let you watch?” He abruptly grabs a handful of Leo’s hair and jerks his head back. Leo’s wide eyes stare at the ceiling, but again, he doesn’t cry out. “He won’t tell us who he is, but you seem to be important to him.” Congers lets him go.

“It doesn’t matter who he is. It matters what he is. A clueless kid. Just some science club wannabe from my school.” As I say it, Leo’s shoulders tense.

“Then maybe I should kill him and have one less clueless kid to deal with today,” suggests Congers. “But I think his pain will motivate you.”

“To do what? My dad’s stuff can’t be accessed remotely.”

“We’ll return to New York as soon as we—”

The SUV lurches forward as something crashes into us from behind. Congers and the dark-haired agent on my other side brace themselves against the seat in front, and Graham hits the gas. Congers twists in his seat, as do I, trying to see what hit us, but all I register is headlights closing fast.

It’s the minivan we just passed.

“Goddamn idiot road rager!” shouts Graham.

“Don’t bet on it!” Congers snaps, then grabs my hair. “Who is it?” he hisses in my ear.

“No idea!”

He releases my hair and glares out the rear window. “It looks like there’s only one, but there might be more ahead to box us in. We need to take this one out now.”

The van smashes into us again, honking, staying hard on our tail. Graham slams on the brakes, and the driver of the minivan slows accordingly, narrowly avoiding another collision. The van careens around us and speeds ahead. Its brake lights flash. “What the hell is he doing?” Graham asks.