Wired. Part 25

"That's right. But after you avoided capture, I didn't want to reacquire you too quickly. You two had to have some time to bond." He paused and watched blood slowly roll down Desh's neck with fascination. "When you escaped from the safe house, I was forced yet again to alter my plans. I had planned on the two of you remaining prisoners for several days there and then arranging for your escape, with Putnam being killed in the process." He shrugged. "No matter. I was able to make some adjustments and everything still worked out as planned."

"You still don't have the coordinates," said Kira defiantly.

"Don't I?" said her brother, smirking. "The homing device wasn't the only thing the surgeon in Iraq implanted when he was operating on Desh. He also gave him cochlear implantsa"one for each ear. It's a standard procedure for people deaf or very hard of hearing. Only the implants he received were silicon-chip based recording units. They record digitally and can be downloaded to a computer for playback." He sipped his drink and smiled. "They have a finite battery life and only record from ten to eighteen hours, depending on the amount of input, so I had these set to be activated by my signal as well."

"And you activated them within the past ten hours, I presume," said Desh.

"Right you are," said Alan happily. "Using the homing device I had implanted, I easily tracked you to Putnam's house. After all my painstaking planning, at long last I had created the perfect storm." He gazed at his sister smugly. "A man you trusted and were falling in love with. A credible threat to species survival. And you convinced that you had but minutes to live."

Much of the fire had left Kira Miller as the realization hit her with full force that this monster had won. And she had dutifully played her role as the perfect little p.a.w.n. She glanced at her bonds and the razor wire at her throat. Escape was impossible. And even if she could escape, what would she do? Would she kill her own brother?

She clenched her fists. This wasn't her brother, she told herself forcefully. This was a twisted imposter. Believing this was the only way her psyche could survive a betrayal this vast. Her brother had died in a fire in their childhood home. The monster in front of her was a complete stranger.

"The finis.h.i.+ng touch to my masterpiece," continued Alan, "was for you to think your arch-enemy was dead."

"Why?" said Desh.

"If Kira suspected a powerful enemy with access to her treatment was still at large, she would have been far less comfortable disclosing the GPS coordinates." He raised his eyebrows. "Putnam had no idea what my real plan was. Certainly not that his extermination was a key ingredient. With the arch-enemy who had killed your brother dead, you were free to whisper your secret right into Desh's cochlea."

Alan paused to let his prisoners ponder just how utterly they had been manipulated; just how complete his victory.

"What if Kira hadn't killed Putnam?"

"I suspected she would. I made sure he boasted about killing me just to rub salt in her wound. And my sister is so f.u.c.king predictable. So f.u.c.king n.o.ble. I can't tell you how disappointed I am that we sprang from the same womb."

"Believe me," said Kira Miller, scowling, "your disappointment pales in comparison to mine."

"But to answer your question, Desh," said Alan, as if his sister had not spoken, "I was the one who sent Putnam into his house to talk with you in the first place. I had a sniper targeting him while the rest of my men came up through his tunnel. If Kira had failed to shoot him, my sniper would have done so the moment he opened the door." He paused. "You wouldn't know who had killed him or why, but that wouldn't matter. With the only man capable of resetting the supposed explosive charge in Kira's skull dead, she would once again tell you her secret, believing she had but minutes to live and having no guarantee that the sterilization plot could be stopped."

Desh nodded miserably. "It appears you thought of everything," he said, looking defeated for the first time.

"You're d.a.m.n straight," said Alan smugly.

49.

The helicopter had landed almost five minutes before but Alan Miller was clearly enjoying himself too much to put a temporary halt to the proceedings, and the pilots knew better than to interrupt their boss. Finally, Alan decided a change in venue was in order.

Six soldiers, once again dressed in commando gear, had surrounded the helicopter and were waiting patiently for Alan Miller to open the helicopter door. "Bring them inside," he barked. He then nodded toward Desh at the back of the chopper. "And make sure this one is completely immobilized on the gurney. He's ex-Special Forces."

Gurney? Desh didn't like the sound of that. The blood had stopped dripping from his neck, but he was battered and bruised from the melee on the helicopter. It was getting difficult to remember when he had last showered or a time when he wasn't bound. Perhaps in years past a captor would have felt secure simply holding a gun on him without feeling the need to immobilize him as well, but this was no longer the case. The almost superhuman portrayal of Special Forces soldiers by the media and in fiction had unfortunately ensured that he was rarely underestimated.

Three soldiers entered the chopper and removed all restraints but the plasticuffs binding the prisoners' wrists behind their backs. They were marched off the helicopter. A mansion that would not have been out of place in ancient Greece loomed in front of them. Ma.s.sive white pillars flanked its entrance, and it was centered on acres and acres of meticulously manicured grounds, complete with ponds, gardens and winding streams. Two large, multi-tiered marble fountains stood at its entrance, with life-sized statues of Greek G.o.ds drinking nectar from ma.s.sive chalices. No other houses were visible for as far as the eye could see in any direction.

They were ushered through the oversized front door and into a vaulted room with twice as much floor s.p.a.ce as Kira's entire RV. The floor was white marble, and a 95-inch plasma television hung on the wall like a ma.s.sive work of modern art, with ten movie-theater style seats facing it. The mansion's interior contained numerous statues and paintings, all depicting Greek G.o.ds, as if Alan Miller considered himself a modern Zeus and had built himself an Olympus in which to reside.

Desh was shoved roughly on his back onto the wheeled, stainless steel gurney of which Alan had spoken, his hands still cuffed behind him. Two of the mercenaries strapped him down and checked to be sure he couldn't escape. Kira's hands were also cuffed behind her and were now cuffed to the gleaming steel gurney as well.

Alan Miller entered the room briskly and stood beside the gurney, so both prisoners could see him well. "This is my media room," he announced proudly. "What do you think?"

Desh looked up at him icily. "I think I'm going to enjoy watching you die," he said intently.

"Very good," said Alan approvingly. "What bravado. No wonder my sister likes you so much. I'm afraid you're at a bit of a disadvantage, though. While I don't have fancy electronic security systems, I do have twelve war-hardened mercenaries who patrol the grounds. I pay them extremely well." He shook his head, unimpressed. "Forgive me for not feeling threatened."

"So what now?" said Desh.

"A surgeon of my acquaintance is on his way. He'll be here in about ten minutes. He'll remove your implants and then, at long last, I'll take my first step toward immortality."

"A surgeon? Isn't that a little delicate for a butcher like you," said Desh. "Why not just kill me?"

"Fair question," he said. He held his hands out, palms up, and sighed. "Technology these days. It's remarkably reliable on the whole, but you just never know. If for some reason the recorder failed to activate or to capture the GPS coordinates properly, I'm going to need you alive so you can tell me the coordinates yourself."

Desh eyed Alan Miller with contempt. "You'd better hope your recorder worked then, because you'll never get the coordinates from me. With truth drugs or otherwise."

Alan laughed. "Part of me almost hopes it didn't work, just so we can find out."

"And if it did?" said Desh.

"I may keep you alive as leverage. I still need my sister to continue her longevity work. She is still the best biologist of her generation."

There was a long silence during which Alan Miller appeared to be lost in thought. "Now that I've answered all your questions," he said finally. "I have one of my own." He raised his eyebrows. "How did you escape from the safe house?"

Desh smiled. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that," he said.

"Oh, you'll tell me all right. What youa""

Outside, the Sikorsky helicopter erupted into flames!

The explosion rocked the mansion as if an earthquake had struck.

Alan Miller rushed to a window. All h.e.l.l was breaking loose! The military helicopter that had fired a missile into the Sikorsky was now strafing the grounds with its machine guns. At least two of Alan's mercenaries were dead and several others had taken positions in preparation for a firefight, or were racing to take cover. Billowing smoke from the flaming helicopter created a surreal haze over the entire scene, and heavy gunfire could be heard from multiple quarters.

Alan could tell his sister had been as stunned as he was. But he had caught a certain gleam in David Desh's eye as he ran to the window. Desh had not been surprised.

Alan raced over to the gurney and looked down at Desh. "What's going on?" he demanded, speaking loudly to be heard over the raging battle taking place outside, the room's marble floor doing nothing to dampen the noise.

"I don't have any idea," said Desh, raising his voice to a near shout as well.

Alan grabbed Desh's head and slammed it into the gurney. "I repeat," he screamed menacingly, "what is going on!"

Desh's face remained stoically impa.s.sive, despite the blow to his head, and it was clear he would not be responding.

"Okay, lover boy," he spat at Desh. "Let's see how brave you are when it comes to my sister."

Alan walked rapidly to a desk and returned with a sharply pointed silver letter-opener. Without warning he plunged it savagely into his sister's arm.

Kira issued a startled shriek as blood began to soak her sweats.h.i.+rt.

Alan wrapped his left forearm tightly around his sister's neck from behind and extended his right arm in front of her, the now b.l.o.o.d.y letter-opener pointed at her face. "Tell me exactly what's going on," he barked at Desh. "The first time I even suspect you're lying to me, she loses an eye."

Desh looked into Alan's eyes and had no doubt he would do it. He would enjoy doing it. "I set you up," said Desh quickly.

"Impossible," said Alan, holding the point of the letter-opener a few inches from his sister's left eye and slowly moving it forward.

"I used one of Kira's pills," said Desh hurriedly, desperate to convince Alan he was telling the truth. "That's how we escaped from Putnam's safe house."

Alan's eyes narrowed. He lowered the letter opener as he considered this new information worriedly. Without saying anything more, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a gellcap, and hurriedly swallowed it.

"You know the awesome ability of an enhanced mind to see patterns and make connections," continued Desh. "And I'm not your sister, whose every memory is of the saintly Alan Miller. Kira was at the epicenter of the deaths of her parents and uncle and teachersa"but so was her brother. And there was nothing left of your body but ashes. Very convenient. I realized this exact endgame was a likely possibility immediately. The most likely possibility. My surprised reactions since you arrived at Putnam's have been nothing but an act."

Kira Miller couldn't hide her shock.

"You're lying," snapped Alan. "I can tell from Kira's reaction."

"She didn't know."

"You suspected all of this and you didn't tell her?" said Alan in disbelief.

"There was a chance I was wrong," replied Desh. "That Putnam was behind everything and the situation was exactly as it had been portrayed. I didn't want to give Kira false hopes that the bomb implant was a fake, or tarnish her memory of you if I was wrong." Desh paused. "There was also one other consideration," he said, trying to stall by divulging information as piecemeal as he thought he could get away with.

"What?" snapped Alan impatiently.

Desh paused for another second before answering. "I wanted her reactions to be real," he said. "The same with Griffin and Metzger. When the explosive device failed to go off, when you arrived, I couldn't count on their acting abilities. I didn't want to tip you off that I was on to you."

Alan shook his head vigorously. "Bulls.h.i.+t!" he snapped. "If you suspected, you wouldn't have let Kira give you the GPS coordinates, and you wouldn't have let me capture you."

"Think again, psycho," said Desh in contempt. "I didn't know how to find you. I needed you to reveal yourself. And I wanted you to brag about your achievements so I could be sure I hadn't missed anything." Desh raised his eyebrows. "Not to mention that I detected your implanted cochlear recorders while I was enhanced and used my immune system to deactivate them." He smiled broadly. "Whose feeling manipulated now, a.s.shole!" he spat hatefully.

Gunfire continued to rage unabated on the lush, well-tended acreage surrounding the mansion, now transformed into a killing field, violated by explosions and countless bullets, and fertilized with copious amounts of blood.

Alan glared at Desh. "Make no mistake," he barked. "Whatever is happening outside, my men will handle it. And in just a few minutes I'll be transformed and able to slip out of any noose."

"Don't count on it," said Desh.

"Who are they?" demanded Alan. "Even if you suspected me, you couldn't have set me up. You couldn't possibly know where I live. And no one followed us here. I'm sure of it."

"Wrong again, a.s.shole," hissed Desh. "Before we broke into Putnam's house, I had a private conversation with my friend the colonel. I knew you would spot the RV. How could you not? I told him to take one of Kira's pills at the first hint of trouble. I outlined how it would be possible to fake his own death." Desh winked. "I'm sure you know that when you're enhanced you can control your heart rate. Smear blood on your head, pretend to be dead, and don't have a pulse when someone is checking for it. Presto, you're declared dead." Desh raised his eyebrows. "But to give credit where it's due," he continued. "I did get the idea of faking Connelly's death from you, Alan." He smiled mockingly. "Thanks."

The veins in Alan Miller's neck were standing out as his fury mounted. Desh knew his best bet was too keep him here until his team arrived, hoping against hope this would happen soon, before Kira's treatment transformed her brother.

"Even though the colonel is injured," continued Desh, "with his mind enhanced, it must have been easy for him to best your men at Putnam's farm and free Metzger and Griffin. I told him to give a pill to the major and come after me." Desh raised his eyebrows. "You see, I hid a homing device on myself that the colonel could use to track me. And your men were good enough to arrive at Putnam's in military choppers so the major could borrow one. The colonel's mind is now back to normal, no doubt. But just one Ross Metzger, enhanced, along with a military helicopter, is more than a match for your mercenaries."

Instead of responding, Alan Miller appeared to be listening for gunfire. But after a deafening barrage that had seemed to go on forever, everything was now utterly silent. This seemed to totally unnerve him, and he shoved the gurney near the wall, dragging his sister along with it. He pulled out a gun and crouched behind his two prisoners, his back to the wall, using their bodies as s.h.i.+elds.

"What's the matter?" taunted Desh. "Not so sure of your mercenary force anymore?"

Before Desh completed his sentence, Connelly and Metzger entered the room. Metzger moved with the elegance of a ballet dancer and took in the scene with superhuman acuity.

Alan peered around his sister. "Take one step closer and I'll kill them both," he threatened.

Metzger looked bored. "Thanks. It will spare me the trouble," he said.

Alan's eyes narrowed and it was clear the wheels were turning in his head. "Look, Major," he said amicably, "we can team up, you and I. Surely in the state you're in now you can see the logic of this. Why hitch yourself to my sister's wagon? I already have more power and money than G.o.d. Once we begin to leverage the secret of extended life, you and I will be the most powerful people on the planet."

"Ross, please," pleaded Kira Miller. "Kill him! Don't worry about hitting me. He took a gellcap and he'll be enhanced any second. This is your chance!" she insisted emphatically. "Remember what Matt said: the vast majority of your life will be lived as you were, unenhanced. And that Ross Metzger couldn't live with himself if he teamed up with this psychopath."

"Shut the f.u.c.k up, you b.i.t.c.h!" thundered Metzger.

Kira flinched and drew back from the fury of his words.

Metzger pulled the trigger and put a bullet cleanly between Alan Miller's eyes. He slammed back against the wall and then fell forward, face first.

Kira gasped in shock. The shot had missed her by the thickness of a piece of paper.

No one moved. No one even breathed. All eyes were on Ross Metzger.

The major calmly lowered his gun. "Sorry about that, Kira," he said matter-of-factly. "You were in the way of a clean shot. I calculated that if I shouted a curse at you, your head would twist just enough for me to kill him."

Kira stared at him in bewilderment, her eyes blinking rapidly. She glanced at her brother on the floor and then turned her head to take in as much of her surroundings as she could. All was quiet.

Could it be? After all this time, was it now really over? It had happened so fast. Metzger's actions had been so decisive; so final. The immense pressure that had been bearing down on her psyche for so long was so crus.h.i.+ng that its sudden removal was surreal; disorienting. She took a deep breath and let the reality seep into the deep recesses of her consciousness: her interminable waking nightmare had truly ended. It had ended with a venomous curse, and a single shot delivered with superhuman accuracy. Several tears escaped from the corners of her eyes and raced down her cheeks.

The major turned to Desh. "David, while I am more ruthless than I was, I'm not like Griffin or you. It isn't testosterone related. I believe I've come through the transformation with more of my soul intact even than Kira did the first time. I have some theories but you wouldn't understand." He paused; or had his simulacrum pause at any rate. "Kira, I'm sorry about your brother."

Kira Miller took a long, hard look at the body lying on the floor and then firmly turned away, as if determined to close the book on this part of her life forever. She turned to Metzger and shook her head resolutely; only her eyes betraying her deep pain. "That's not my brother," she said bitterly, drying her tears with the back of her hand. "My brother died in a fire a year ago."

50.

The grounds were still smoking from the carnage that had taken place there, and the outside world was now eerily silent, as if even birds and insects had been cowed into silence by the bloodshed they had witnessed.

"I've got to hand it to you David," said Kira appreciatively. "You're certainly full of surprises."

"Sorry about that," he replied guiltily.

"Don't be. I understand why you made the choices you did, and your plan was flawless." Her gaze s.h.i.+fted to Connelly and Metzger. "Gentlemen, I can't thank you enough."

The colonel smiled warmly. "No need for thanks, Kira. We're a team now, after all."