Game Over (13 page)

But the truth was the same old same old would never be the same.

Before she was kidnapped, her mind had been mired in confusion. She knew she had feelings for Rick, but he seemed to have abandoned her. She was constantly thinking about it, torturing herself with questions. Did she feel this way or that way? Should she do this or that?

She remembered that kiss under the trees again. Smiled to herself again. All those questions were answered now.

She patted the sweater into place and zipped the case shut. She took hold of the handle and drew the suitcase off the bed, set it on the floor. She turned to take a last survey of the bare barracks room in which she'd been staying, panning her eyes over the place to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind.

She turned—and then she stopped turning and gasped at the sight of the gray corpse-like face staring in at her through the window with bloodshot eyes.

“Victor!” she whispered.

Victor One was pressed up against the glass, holding to the windowsill to keep himself on his feet. He really did look like a corpse. His cheeks were the color of stone. His
eyes were streaked with branching red lines of blood. His mouth was open. His stare was empty. Molly was sure he was going to fall over any minute.

She rushed to the window. Unlocked it. Hoisted it open.

“Molly . . .,” Victor One whispered weakly. His body bent forward, his head coming into the room.

Frightened, confused, Molly glanced up quickly at the scene behind him: a sere treeless stretch of the compound that ran to a section of barbed wire. She understood: Victor must've snuck here from the hospital, using back ways to avoid being seen by the guards.

She put a hand on his arm. “What are you doing out of bed? You've got to get back to the hospital. What's the matter? What's wrong?”

Without a word, the bodyguard began to try to climb in over the sill through the window. But even though the window was low to the ground, he didn't have the strength to drag himself through it.

Molly grabbed hold of him, one arm around his shoulders, trying to steady him. “Victor. Stop. Wait. You'll hurt yourself. What're you doing?”

“Help me,” was all he said to her. His voice was barely a whisper.

“I'm not strong enough to lift you through,” she said. “Let me walk you around front. I'll let you in the door.”

V-One shook his head, still trying to claw himself up over the windowsill. “Guards out front. Coming this way.
Once they realize I left the hospital . . . they'll be all over . . . Please . . .”

“All right, all right,” she said. She didn't know what else to do. “Steady. I'll help you.”

Getting the best grip on the big man she could, she began to try to lift him up over the sill. She couldn't do much, but it was just the extra help he needed. He got his leg up on the edge of the window and practically spilled through as Molly tried to catch him. She was strong, but he was too heavy. She staggered back as he tumbled into her. She lost her hold on him and Victor One dropped to the floor with a thud. He curled up on his side and lay at her feet, breathing hard.

“Victor . . .,” she said, but before she could speak another word, there was a knock at the door.

“You all right, Molly?” It was her father, Professor Jameson. “I thought I heard something fall in there. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Daddy,” she called back. “I just dropped . . . something.”

“The truck should be here any minute.”

“I'm almost ready,” she said. “I'll be . . . I'll be right out.”

“Okay.”

She heard her father's footsteps trailing away down the hall.

Victor One, meanwhile, had caught his breath, gathered his strength. He was working his way up into a sitting
position. Leaning back against the wall beside the window. Wearily pushing the brown hair off his gray face. Drawing a deep breath to steady himself.

Molly knelt down in front of him on one knee. She touched his shoulder gently, spoke softly. “What are you doing here, V-One? Why'd you leave the hospital?”

He looked at her and the sight of his bloodshot eyes filled her with pity and fear. He did not look like he would live another hour.

“Mars . . .,” he said, flinching with pain at the effort of speaking. “He arrested the Traveler . . .”

“What? Professor Dial? Arrested him? Why?”

Victor had to take another breath before he could talk again and when he did talk, his voice was low and rasping. “Last night . . . someone overrode the compound's security system . . . hacked Mars' computer . . . Mars claims he has evidence linking the security override to a program written by the Traveler. And he says only Kurodar could have hacked the computer. So he's saying the Traveler . . .”

Victor One ran out of strength and had to take a breath, but Molly finished the sentence for him. “He's saying the Traveler is a traitor working with Kurodar.”

Victor One nodded weakly.

“That's impossible,” Molly said.

Victor One nodded again. “I know. And Mars knows too.”

“Mars knows . . .? But if he knows, then why . . .?”

“Because Mars . . . Mars is the one. Mars is the traitor.”

Molly stared at him, her mind blank, stunned into silence.

Victor One continued to work the words out slowly, fighting the pain. “He's afraid the Traveler found out what he was doing when he got into his computer . . . He's accusing him first, to ruin his reputation, so no one will believe him when he tells the truth.”

“That . . . Wait, what? How do you know this?”

“Moros . . .,” was all Victor One could manage to say.

“Moros . . .?” Then Molly remembered. “The billionaire who owned the swampland where they held me when I was kidnapped.”

“I put my Army Intelligence guys onto him. Moros has been playing a double game, helping to fund Kurodar but at the same time trying to broker a deal between Mars and the Axis . . . Mars used the MindWar program as a giant hack into U.S. defense systems. Stole plans . . . weapons . . . codes . . . to sell to Moros . . . who'll auction them off to the highest bidder . . .”

“But why? Why would he do that?”

Victor One gave a brief, coughing, cynical laugh. “A billion dollars.”

“A billion . . . But I thought Mars was such a big patriot . . .”

Victor One's head fell back weakly against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes.

“Mars stinks,” he said.

Molly's confusion was passing now. Her mind was coming back online. She was trying to understand the situation, trying to figure out what they had to do next. Mars, the head of the MindWar Project, was an agent of the Axis Assembly . . . Professor Dial was under arrest, charged with treason . . . And what about . . .?

“Rick,” she whispered. “Is Rick all right?”

Victor One opened his eyes. He smiled at her, but the color seemed to have drained out of his blue eyes. It was as if he were looking at her from another place far away.

“Your lover boy's all right,” he said, trying to make a joke of it. “For now, anyway. They tried to send him into the Realm again and something happened. I'm not sure what. He came back shaken up, but he's all right. They're doing tests on him at the hospital barracks now. But I heard him in there, yelling that he wanted to see his dad. Sounded like his usual hothead self.”

Molly tried to smile at that, but her emotions overpowered her. “We have to help him,” she said softly. “We have to stop Mars . . . Can we get word out to your military friends?”

“Mars has got the compound on lockdown,” Victor One half whispered. “For ‘security reasons,' he says. No one comes or goes without his specific approval. He's jamming cell phones, stopping all communications out of here. I can't even get online anymore. My guess is he wants to make his trade with Moros and then make a run for it with his billion.”

“But I'm leaving. My dad and I. In a few minutes. Maybe when I get out, I can contact Army Intelligence . . .”

Victor One shook his head. “I'm working off the grid. By the time you reached my contacts, this'll all be over. And the stuff I know you can't know, Molly. It has to be me who goes . . .”

“But look at you, you can barely move.”

“It has to be me.”

“But if I can bring them here . . .”

“Mars'll be long gone. I'm telling you. You've got to figure out a way to get me out of here.”

“Get . . .?” Molly lifted her eyes to the ceiling. It was so much, so fast. She said a quick prayer and felt her mind steady. She lowered her eyes to Victor again.

Boy, he looked bad! Really bad. Like he might just fall over and die any minute. How was she going to get him out of the compound when he could hardly walk . . . and when Mars had guards everywhere . . .

V-One seemed to read her mind. “Don't worry about me,” he said. “I may look like I'm dying . . . I may
be
dying . . . But that won't stop me.”

Molly rolled her eyes. Guys like Victor One—and guys like Rick Dial for that matter—they all thought they were supermen. Swaggering, stubborn, unstoppable when they set their minds to something. They all thought they were magically indestructible.

It was kind of what she liked about them.

“All right,” she said quietly. “We'll get you out. Somehow.”

There was a knock at the door. Her father called in: “The truck's here, Molly.”

Molly nodded. Took a breath. She leaned close to Victor One and spoke into his ear.

“Here's what we're going to do,” she said.

18. THE GATE

MOLLY STOOD IN
the cold outside her barracks. She could feel her heart fluttering in her chest like a caged bird. The transport truck that was to take them back to Putnam Hills had come in through the compound's front gate. It was parked just beyond the guard checkpoint there, waiting for them to bring their suitcases over.

Molly watched as her father walked toward the checkpoint. He was trying to look casual, but she could tell he was nervous. The driver of the truck—a small, sloppy soldier with his shirt nearly untucked from his pants—was leaning against the side of the truck. Professor Jameson approached him and spoke to him. The driver shook his head: no.

“Come on,” whispered Molly. It wasn't just the cold that made her shiver.

Her father spoke a few more words, making small encouraging gestures with his hands.

He has to bring the truck over here
, thought Molly.
He has to.

Every second that went by, her plan became more
dangerous. Mars might change his mind and decide she and her father couldn't leave. Or someone might notice V-One had left the hospital and sound the alarm. Or one of the guards might just decide to wander by here . . .

They were everywhere, those guards. Watching from the towers, marching along the barbed-wire fence that sealed the compound's perimeter. Moving from barracks to barracks. It was funny, Molly thought. When she had come to this place a week or so ago, Molly had thought of the MindWar compound as a friendly outpost. She had been through a terrible ordeal. Kidnapped. Imprisoned. Chased through the woods. Very nearly killed. She needed rest; medical attention. She was glad to get inside the fence. All those guards—they were there to protect her. The whole place was operated by the American government after all. It was safe here. She was safe.

Now, suddenly, the place had turned into a prison. All because of Mars. All because Mars had sold out his country.

Molly saw the truck driver make a gesture of surrender, throwing up his hands. She let out a breath as he turned to get back into the truck. In another moment, he was starting up the engine. Her father was walking back toward her.

“Okay,” Professor Jameson said. “He's bringing it right up to the door, like you asked.” Father's and daughter's eyes locked for a moment and an understanding passed between them. Molly had told her dad what she was planning to do.

The truck was a typical Army transport vehicle: a railed flatbed with a domed canvas covering. It rocked and rumbled over the half-frozen ground as it moved away from the front gate and swung around toward their small barracks house. As it pulled up in front of Molly, the driver looked out at her. He had a round, brown-skinned face with a sorrowful expression, as if the world were continually hurting his feelings. He seemed deeply burdened by the fact that he'd had to drive over to the barracks to pick Molly up.

Molly answered his frown with the brightest, prettiest smile she could muster.

“Thanks so much for coming!” she said up at the window. “That is so sweet of you.”

The driver shrugged.

“I was wondering if you could help me with my bag?” she went on. “It's a little heavy for me.”

Which was ridiculous. Molly was an athlete and could easily have hurled the bag to the front gate from where she was standing. But she knew that guys like to help girls lift stuff—it is an iron law of life—and though she didn't like to fool people, the situation was desperate and the cause was just.

The driver sighed, but, sorrowful or not, he was a guy and he liked to help girls lift stuff and he didn't hesitate. He got down out of the cab of the truck and followed Molly into the barracks. She led him down the hall to her room and pointed to the suitcase. When he saw it, he
paused. Then he turned and gave her a look. Well, it was pretty ridiculous, all right. The suitcase was so small and Molly was such a big, strong girl.

But she smiled again and looked up at the ceiling. “I have a bad back,” she said. “And I don't like to ask my dad.” She didn't even sound convincing to herself.

The truck driver nodded sadly. This whole business was a pain in the neck to him, but he did like Molly's smile. So he made a face—
Whatever
—and he picked up the suitcase and carried it back down the hall.