The Pretender (The Soren Chase Series Book 2) (32 page)

Soren herded the other guards in front of him, watching as they walked through the exits. He had to move as quickly as possible. As he walked through the door, he concentrated on making himself faster and stronger. He sidestepped Adam’s memories because they were nowhere near as potent as the real Soren’s memories. He thought about his track tryouts in high school, how he was desperate to excel. The coach didn’t like him for some reason, and he was anxious to prove what he could do.

Just recalling the memory made his skin tingle. He remembered winning a spot on the team, and turning to see Sara and John in the stands waving at him. He wasn’t sure that last bit had actually happened. In real life, the two had probably been off necking somewhere, not watching him run, but it didn’t matter. It seemed real and Soren could feel his body responding.

He walked out the door to find the six men milling about, talking to one another in hushed tones. The rest of the lobby outside was deserted of people. The police had clearly taken the bomb threat seriously and weren’t taking any chances. Tom moved his head and opened his mouth to talk to Soren—and then stopped.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.

Soren looked down at himself to find he was back in Soren’s clothes. He touched his face to find sunglasses there. Apparently when he’d conjured the memory of the track meet, he’d done too good a job.

“Huh,” he said. “Going to have to work on that.”

As one, the six men drew their weapons, but to Soren, they moved slowly. Their speed hadn’t changed, but his perception of it had. Before Tom could even finish pulling out his gun, Soren had crossed the distance to him, delivering a fierce uppercut that sent him into the air. Tom’s body was just leaving the ground as Soren leaned to the left and kicked out sharply with his right leg, hitting Mick in the neck with a blow so hard Soren could hear it break bones.

Soren turned to find Victor aiming a gun in his direction. The bullet wouldn’t hurt Soren, but the noise would let Rakev know there was a problem. Soren grabbed Victor’s wrist, twisting it and then issuing a quick jab to his nose. Victor’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he began to fall.

Before he hit the ground, Soren had kicked the gun out of Peter’s hand, timing it so the weapon flew from the henchman’s hand and smacked into Sean’s face, sending him reeling. Soren reached out and grabbed the last guard, Hugh, and tossed him into Peter, and the two of them collided with each other. He hit Sean again, his blow so hard it knocked him out instantly, and returned to Hugh, Tom, and Peter to ensure they all stayed down.

All six men around him lay on the ground, either dead or unconscious—and it had taken Soren less than twenty seconds to dispatch them.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “I could get used to that.”

He quickly hid the bodies, pulling them off to the side and into one of the corners. Then he straightened his clothes and turned back to the concert hall.

His good mood lasted until he sneaked into the back door and saw Rakev was now piling the bodies on top of one another. He’d just finished dropping an elderly man on top of several corpses.

“I hope one of you uploads that to YouTube,” Rakev said. “I think it could go viral. If you Tweet about it, please use hashtag
dyingattheKC.
I’d love to see if I could get that trending.”

Before anyone could react, there was a distinct sound of a gunshot ringing out. It was impossible to tell where it had come from, but it seemed to echo through the concert hall, the acoustics masking its origin. Soren looked around and didn’t see any guard or anyone else nearby.

On stage, Rakev frowned, looking down at himself to see if he’d been shot. When he determined he hadn’t been, he looked around at the musicians behind him.

“Did one of you try to shoot me?” he asked.

That didn’t appear to be the case. There was the sound of another gunshot, and Rakev looked angry.

“Goddammit,” he said. “This is why you people can’t have nice things. Reeker! Do your thing.”

Soren saw a black mass fall from one of the chandeliers above, landing in an aisle. He barely tracked it before a thick mass of fog suddenly rolled throughout the concert hall, plunging the room into mist and obliterating all sound.

Sara braced herself in her seat as Ken raced the police cruiser into the parking garage at the Kennedy Center.

The police radio had just sounded an order to evacuate everyone in the building except for those in the concert hall. It had painted a grim picture of what was going on inside there. The police believed terrorists had taken over the hall, trapping everyone and threatening to blow up the place unless their demands were met. They were pushing everyone back, making a safe perimeter around the Kennedy Center. The scene in the garage was a mess, as officers began redirecting scared patrons into a line to the outside. Everyone was far too distracted to stop Ken and Sara from entering.

Ken stopped the car near one of the entrances, and both he and Sara jumped out. Ken went to the trunk and handed Sara a flak jacket, gun, and a holster.

“You can’t go in unarmed,” he said.

She nodded, slipping on the jacket and holster. She kept the weapon in her right hand, however. She had no intention of putting it away.

With that, Ken and Sara ran to the garage stairway entrance, where a single, harried officer was still directing the people who had been attending other performances at the Kennedy Center. Ken approached the officer as if he had every right to be there. The cop was young and obviously scared, but trying to appear calm.

“What’s the situation?” Ken said, holding out his ID so the cop could look at it.

If the young officer noticed Ken’s ID was from the Arlington County police department rather than DC, he didn’t mention it. He just looked grateful that there was backup.

“These are the last ones in the opera house,” the cop said. “Once they’re out, we’re to clear the building. SWAT guys are nearly here.”

Ken nodded toward the stairs, and gestured toward Sara.

“We need to get in there,” he said.

“But my orders said—”

Ken leaned in close and spoke in a low voice to the officer, trying to ensure no fleeing patrons overheard him. Sara saw a look of shock cross the officer’s face and then quickly disappear. He nodded at Ken.

“I understand,” he said.

Ken started walking into the building and up the stairs with Sara following quickly behind.

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“That you were our bomb specialist and we needed to check the area for possible radiation,” Ken said. “I told him brass believed the terrorists may have a nuclear device, but didn’t want to say anything over the radio. Honestly, a nuclear bomb is pretty close to what we’re dealing with.”

“A bomb specialist?” she asked, gesturing to herself. Aside from the flak jacket, she was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. She hardly looked dressed for the part.

Ken shrugged. “He’s a rookie. We got lucky.” But he said the word “lucky” as if he meant anything but.

It wasn’t until that moment that Sara realized everything Ken was risking here. If they survived all this, his career would be over. The police would never believe he was just chasing another suspect. And yet he never appeared to consider it. Maybe it was because of the dire straits they were in, but more likely it was because he was desperate to help her.

They emerged into one of the wide, tall hallways of the Kennedy Center. There was no one else there.

Ken pulled out his phone and began looking at it, then gestured to the left.

“This way,” he said.

“What did you pull up?” she asked as they ran.

“After 9/11, the government created a secret database with the updated blueprints of every landmark or potential terrorist target in and around the city,” Ken said. “Fortunately for us, the Kennedy Center is in there.”

He stopped near a white door that blended in so well with the wall, Sara wouldn’t have even known it was there.

“Through here,” he said.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“From what the reports said, the main way in is guarded by terrorists,” Ken said. “But there is another avenue we could try, one Rakev and Soren may not have thought of.”

Ken cracked open the door, drawing his gun.

“So what are we doing?”

Taking a look to make sure the way was clear, Ken held the door open for Sara with a wry smile. “Using our backstage pass.”

Ken directed them through several windowless hallways until they came to a large double door that read P
ERFORMERS
AND
S
TAFF
O
NLY.
N
O
A
DMITTANCE.

There was a light above the door that was glowing red. The small sign next to it said “Performance in Progress.”

Ken motioned for Sara to get back and she obeyed, putting herself against the wall. Ken cautiously cracked open the door and glanced inside. Then he edged inside the room, holding the door open slightly. He looked back at her and gave a slight shrug. Nothing there.

She moved toward the door and followed him inside. The room reminded her vaguely of her high school’s band room, except it was far larger. It was a large backstage area, dominated by a black curtain at the far end that led through to the stage.

She heard a scream nearby, making her jump and aim the gun in front of her.

“Yes, you’re right, Antonio, that was ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’ by Queen,” the voice said. “Sorry I had to kill you anyway, but that title was way too appropriate. Who’s our lucky next contestant?”

She looked around the room in panic, but there was nobody there other than Ken. The detective put a finger to his lips, and pointed to the curtain. He began walking in that direction, with Sara right behind him.

Now that she was here, she was self-consciously aware that they didn’t have a solid plan. If Soren’s information about Rakev was correct—and there was no way to know if it was—Rakev couldn’t be harmed by bullets. But maybe there was a way to snatch his quantum gun, or whatever it was called. It was a thin hope to hang a whole city on, but what choice did she have?

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she neared the curtain. Ken drew to within an inch of it, moving it slightly to look out. Just as he did so, however, Sara heard soft but distinct thumps nearby.

She turned to see three gaunts now standing in the center of the backstage room. As she watched, two more dropped down from the ceiling, landing on all fours. They moved like animals, but they had once been human. Soren had told her they were created from freshly dead people.

Their skin was stretched tightly across their bodies, allowing Sara to see the bones underneath. Their bulbous, white eyes stared unblinkingly at Sara while their mouths hung open in identical expressions of a sneer. One of them bared its teeth at her. They were human teeth, but they were stained yellow, their gums cracked and bleeding.

She pulled Ken’s arm urgently, and he followed her gaze. She and Ken raised their guns. Sara was suddenly aware of how precarious their position was. She knew gaunts were vulnerable to guns, and that was good. But if they used them, Rakev or Soren—or any other henchmen or creature nearby—would know they were there. Still, she wasn’t going to let herself be torn apart by these things.

The five monsters watched Ken and Sara for a long moment, not moving. Ken inched away from the curtain cautiously, careful not to make a sudden move that might cause them to attack.

Behind her, Sara heard Rakev speaking to the crowd again.

“And what’s your name?” he asked.

“Randolph,” an elderly man’s voice came back.

“Randolph! I have a friend named Randolph,” Rakev said. “He usually goes by Rippon, though. And he’s less of a friend and more of a longtime nemesis. Actually, I hate his fucking guts, and I feel like poking your eyes out just for sharing his name. But I’m not going to do that, Randy! Or should I call you Adolf? I’m just kidding. Musicians, please strike up the next tune!”

The band began playing music, causing Sara to jump in surprise. Spooked, the gaunts attacked.

All five leaped toward them. Ken fired his gun, catching one in the chest, the gunshot masked by the sound of the music right behind them. Sara dove out of the way, hitting the wood floor on her stomach and immediately rolling to the right, acutely aware of the pain in her leg.

A gaunt loomed over her, but she managed to bring the gun up in time. She fired just as it was about to land on her, the bullet tearing off half its face. It fell dead on top of Sara and she frantically pushed it away.

She managed to stand up just as another gaunt collided with her, knocking her over. She felt its teeth tear into her right wrist and she cried out in pain and dropped the gun, which clattered to the floor beside her. She could barely hear the sounds over the music, which she was fleetingly aware was an instrumental rendition of a-ha’s “Take on Me.”

She tangled on the floor with the gaunt, punching it with her left hand as the thing attached itself to her right wrist. It finally released her and shrieked, this time lunging for her throat. She brought up both her arms and succeeded in pushing the thing away a few feet. Her right wrist was dripping blood and pulsing in agony. Her leg, already hurt from the earlier fight, was throbbing. Sara flailed for the gun nearby and grasped it just as the gaunt rushed her again.

She raised the weapon and had a split second to realize that the band had stopped playing. But her finger was already pulling the trigger, and the bullet hit the gaunt in the throat as it jumped at her.

Sara kicked the gaunt away with her good leg, and it fell dead to the floor. The noise of the gun had been absurdly loud, echoing throughout the room. There was no chance that Rakev hadn’t heard it.

“Did somebody try to shoot me?” a voice asked.

Sara looked over to see Ken struggling on the floor with another gaunt. It was the only monster left—another lay dead nearby, apparently shot by Ken while Sara was fighting.