Destiny: The Girl in the Box #9 (13 page)

“Take over the world,” Antonio said, and now his eyes were mournful. “Kill a lot of people to make it happen. Build it better. Make sure they were unopposed. I got the feeling … that whatever they told me, it wasn’t the same thing they told everyone. They guy doing the talking … Griswold, I think his name was? He seemed kind of stuttery. Like he didn’t know what to say. Contradicted himself a few times, like he was telling me what I wanted to hear.” Antonio shrugged, as much as a person in handcuffs could shrug. “I don’t know. It all sounded like … like Nazi-concentration-camp stuff to me. Scary.”

“Gah, there you are!” Scott’s voice reached me. I looked toward the corner and saw him striding toward us. A few of the lookie loos who had filmed and watched us were still standing near the entrance to the footbridge, cell phone cameras still going. Probably hoping I’d deal Antonio a beating they could put on YouTube. “I’ve been—” He brushed against the guy with the huge beer flask. “Get lost, will you?” He flashed his badge. “Unless you want me to take you in for a toxicology screening.” Beer flask took off. Scott made his way over to us. “He tell you anything?”

“A lot,” I said, glancing at Antonio. “Not much we didn’t already know.” I reached down in my pocket and pulled my handcuff keys. “All right, Antonio, this is where we part ways.”

I could feel the tension in his arms. “Part ways? Part ways how?”

“Wait, you’re gonna let him go?” Scott asked me in near-disbelief. “He killed a guy!”

“A Century operative who had come to kill him,” I said. “Sounds like a pretty clear-cut case of self-defense to me. What else should I do? Lock him in a cell in Arizona until Century comes for him there? Turn him over to the Vegas PD so he can cool his heels in a cell there until they come for him? Or he breaks out? Could be either.” I stuck the key in his handcuffs. “I don’t have the inclination to sentence him to death, Scott. Out here in the world, he’s maybe got a chance. If he finds a new place to hide.”

“You kinda blew my old place to hide,” Antonio said with more than a little reproach. “I had it good down there.”

“Claire was combing the hotels on the strip yesterday,” I said. “I think she was sensing you, and she ended up running into us by mistake.”

“Wait, what?” Scott’s face was crumpled. “I thought Century sent that team after us!”

“I don’t think so,” I said with a shake of the head. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think she got a read on Antonio and was trying to track him down. It just never occurred to her he was under the strip instead of in a hotel overlooking it. Then, when she caught a whiff of us, she tried to take you out. I mean, if they’re out to kill all the metas, knocking one of the only ones still protecting them out of the game is a pretty good day’s work, right?”

“They’re not gonna stop,” Antonio said as I let him loose from the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists, and I could see a little line where they’d rested. “They’re gonna keep coming for me.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But their net is getting more holes in it by the day. We’ve taken over half their telepaths—mind readers—out of circulation. We’ve killed about a tenth of their operatives, total. We get a few more, it’s going to put a hell of a dent in their ability to track people down. I’m pretty sure it already has.”

Antonio looked at me with shadowed eyes. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? You’re … actually fighting them.”

“I’ve gone toe to toe with them more times than I can count lately,” I said with a sigh. “And I’ll keep going until either they get knocked down for the last time or I do.”

Antonio nodded, just barely, like he was still considering something. “You’re really gonna let me go?”

I waved my hand toward the street. “Go plant yourself somewhere safe, but don’t put down roots.” All that was pure smartassery. I softened my tone. “And I wish you the best of luck.”

He took a couple steps away, like he was testing to see if I was lying. I watched Scott. His face was red, like he couldn’t believe I would let Antonio walk. But I did.

And he made it all the way to the corner before he turned back around.

“4627 Eagle Hill Terrace out in Henderson,” Antonio said. He stood at the corner, a little standoffish. He was almost merged into a crowd. As if it gave him a feeling of security.

“What’s that?” I asked, a little confused.

“It’s where they talked to me about joining them,” he said. “It’s where I fought my way out. I think it’s their base or whatever here in town.” People were passing in front of him now. “Good luck to you, too,” he called, and I saw him turn, heading south along the strip. I watched him disappear from where I stood under the footbridge, and he vanished into the wash of tourists.

“We clear on what’s going to happen here?” I asked Scott as he parked the car two doors down from 4627 Eagle Hill Terrace. The brakes squeaked and the car shuddered as he slid it into park before it was fully stopped. The AC was blasting full in my face until he killed the ignition, at which point silence filled the cabin.

“Yeah,” Scott said, voice filled with tension. I could almost hear it quiver. “We’re going to roll up into this place like gangsters and gun down anything that moves.”

I frowned at him. I wasn't sure if he was joking, but I let it slide and threw open my door. A wave of Vegas heat hit me in the face. “Such a smartass.” He didn’t sound happy, but then, who would be given what we were about to do?

“I know, we’re well matched.” There was a hint of tension in his voice that was different than I’d heard before from him. I would have asked him about it, but this wasn’t really the time.

I opened the back door of the car and reached down into the floorboard. We’d made a quick stop-off after we’d gotten the tip from Antonio. I was impressed with how helpful and friendly the manager of a Vegas gun store had been when we’d shown him our FBI badges and mentioned we were heading into a raid on a house where they were suspected to stock heavy firepower.

Really heavy firepower. It was the honest truth.

He hadn’t even asked us why we didn’t call in a SWAT team. He’d just showed us the weapons that weren’t available to the general public and made sure to check our credentials with the local field office before we’d walked out the door with a couple of choice weapons. We paid, of course, which might have been the wellspring of his generosity of spirit, but I had no complaints. Money greased wheels. I had money, and I had wheels that needed greasing.

And as I placed the stock of the AA-12 fully automatic shotgun against my shoulder, I had a suspicion it was more than wheels that were about to get greased.

Scott matched me on the other side of the car, an AA-12 of his own against his shoulder. I nodded to him and we shut the doors quietly. I’d already made a call to the Henderson PD informing them that we had probable cause to search the house, and they had been polite enough to offer to send a couple units out as backup. Which I’d accepted, but told them to wait ten minutes. Not sure quite what the dispatcher thought of that, but hey, she wasn’t paid to think.

We walked side by side down the boiling sidewalk, and I wondered if anyone was calling the police on us right now. That was the whole reason I’d called the Henderson PD, as a hedge against that sort of trouble. Now I had ten uninterrupted minutes to sweep through this house of Century’s before I had to deal with backup, and I planned to use my time wisely.

“You sure we should be doing this?” Scott asked as we made our way up the walk. His voice betrayed him, all shot through with uncertainty.

“Wiping out our astounding number of enemies? Yes.” I ignored the fact that Scott’s objection might be moral in nature and focused solely on the immediate problem at hand.

“Okay,” Scott said with a cringe that hinted he might not share my confidence. “You want me on the back door or front?”

“Front,” I said, and my feet clacked against the rocky lawn as I stepped off the path. “Give me thirty seconds and then kick down the door.”

“Shame we don’t have any breaching rounds,” he murmured and braced himself just outside the front door.

“Like you need a shotgun to open a door,” I muttered as I turned the corner of the house. I wasn’t being as quiet as I wanted to be because I was hunched over and moving quickly to get into position. I knew that any meta worth their salt would hear me outside the window, but because I was hunched over, they wouldn’t be able to see me even if they looked out.

Part of that was strategic, too. If they heard someone moving toward the back door, they’d be paying attention to it when the front door got kicked in. That should allow me to take the focus off Scott and put it on me.

Which meant—lucky me—I’d have the highest probability of dying during this raid. But that’s the way it should have been, in my view. I wanted to be the lightning rod. I’d seen too many people who deserved to live die instead of me. Andromeda. Zack. Breandan.

I crouched outside the back door, my back against the hard, puckered stucco wall. The ridges were poking me, little lines etching into my skin. I was doing a mental countdown in my head, and I only had five seconds to go.

Five …

Four …

Three …

At two, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Even though I knew I was the lightning rod, even though I wanted to draw the attention of everyone in the house to me, I was still scared.

I got to my feet and faced the back door. It looked like a hollow-core, like something you’d use to seal off a bedroom rather than protect the exterior of your house, and I started to wonder if Century gave even half a damn about their own security.

Or maybe they weren’t worried because no one but me was crazy and stupid enough to come after them.

I kicked the door down with one well-placed heel. It crashed inward and I was through in a second. I swept my shotgun left, then right, placing my back against the wall and looking into a kitchen.

A man was waiting just inside, cup of coffee in his hand. He clearly hadn’t heard my approach, because his face went from blank to rage in a half-second. I hesitated, holding off on pulling the trigger until he said, “Sienna N—”

I pulled the trigger and opened up on him with two rounds of double-ought buck to the torso and head. His face and chest exploded in a blast of red. I heard the front door come crashing down, followed by the repetitive, heavy booms of Scott’s shotgun in action.

Once I was sure the corners were clear in the kitchen, I spared only a look to make sure my target was dead. He was; even a meta couldn’t survive having their skull emptied. I swept down the hall and broke left, kicking open a door to a bedroom.

The whole place was yellow, from the paint on the walls to the sheets on the bed. There was a woman sitting up in the bed, eyes locked on me as I came through the door. My world started to blur and I stroked the trigger instinctively.

The yellow walls turned red and the world around me returned to normal, her telepathic influence ended. Red streaks dotted the yellow paint and yellow sheets, and once I’d confirmed the room was clear, I left the body where it lay and moved on to the next room.

I caught a glimpse of Scott coming out of a door at the far end of the hall. “Living room and master bedroom are clear. This is the last one,” he said.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said, gritting my teeth as I kicked the door open. It broke neatly in half and flew inward.

My gun was up before I’d even registered that there were three people in the room. One of them started to raise a hand, and my subconscious moved the shotgun into alignment and peppered him with three shots from a single stroke of the trigger. He splattered and fell, and I moved to the next target.

This one was another woman, bulkier than most. She reminded me a little of Eve, save for the fact she was shorter. She had a hand up as well, but she had hesitated, her eyes glazed. Something flew at me. I dodged right and unloaded on her as well, splotches of red exploding from her midsection and chest.

I took aim at the last target and halted. It was a man, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. I pulled my finger off the trigger and lowered my weapon.

“What the hell was that?” Scott asked from just outside the door. I glanced back and saw the wall opposite the door burned black from the heat of whatever sort of power the woman had heaved at me. If I’d been standing there when it came through … I shuddered.

“Room’s clear,” I said, staring at the man in front of me. He stared back and nodded, gentle eyes sizing me up. His face was worn, bruised and bloodied. His hands were tied behind his back, his legs were secured to the metal chair by heavy chains.

I saw Scott pop his head in behind me. “What…the…f—”

“Now, now,” the man said in a deep voice, soothing as any I’d ever heard. “There’s no need for that kind of talk, Scott.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Scott asked, jaw somewhere around his ankles. Mine should have been, too, but somehow I was unsurprised.

“I’m a prisoner of Century,” the man said, rattling the chains. “Isn’t it obvious? They’ve been using my … unique skills … to aid them in their mission. It would seem they’re running a bit low on internal talent for …” he glanced at me and smiled, “… some reason.”

I took a step closer to him, still sitting in the chair as if all was well. Some of his bruises and cuts were fresh, others looked like they’d been there a while. Probably not something they’d started when they heard me crashing through the back door. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Well, if I’d had it my way, you wouldn’t have,” he said with a slight chuckle. “But Century caught me as I was about to flee the country. It would appear there is no safe ground when it comes to them.” His face darkened. “Or Sovereign.”

“No,” I said, “there’s really not.”

“So, what’s it to be?” he asked, as though he were awaiting nothing more than a minor decision. “Your options are somewhat limited, of course, but I’m quite at your mercy.”

“Find the key to his chains,” I said to Scott, “let’s cut him loose.”

Scott looked at me like I was crazy. I noticed his hand shook on the fore grip of his shotgun. “Umm … Sienna …”