The 4400® Promises Broken (15 page)

Marco adjusted his glasses, apparently considering the question. “Given the exodus of p-negatives after the fifty/ fifty epidemic last year, I’d estimate up to three-quarters of our troublemakers are sporting some kind of superpower.”

“No wonder Seattle PD’s nowhere in sight,” Tom said, imagining how nightmarish the current scenario must look from the perspective of a beat cop without promicin powers. He loosened a side strap on his tactical vest to scratch at an itch that was working its way across his ribs and lower back. “Even Jordan’s ‘peace officers’ look like they’re getting clobbered,” he noted, watching what appeared to be an altercation between a psychokinetic officer and a rioter who could induce seizures with a simple touch.

Shaking his head, Jed remarked, “Is the fire department even trying to answer calls? I’m looking at three buildings going up in—”

He was cut off by a blinding flash of white light from a monitor showing a long-distance image of the downtown Seattle skyline. For a moment, Tom felt a twist of raw terror in his gut as he imagined it might be a nuclear warhead detonating. Then the aperture self-adjusted on whatever camera was providing the feed, and all four NTAC agents saw clearly the beam of energy slicing straight down from the sky into the Collier building.

Watching the tower shatter into fire and fragments, all that Tom could think about was Kyle. From the back of the room, he heard Diana whisper in abject horror, “Maia …”

The skyscraper imploded from the top down, sinking into itself even as its base erupted and buried several blocks of the city in rubble and a thick gray cloud. Watching the collapse, Tom relived all his worst memories of September 11, 2001. Despite his best efforts not to show his emotions, his eyes burned and misted with tears.

Jed staggered a bit and lowered himself into a chair, all the while unable to take his eyes off the screen. “Jesus,” he mumbled, sounding like someone in shock.

Tom swallowed hard and bit back on his fear. He walked over to Marco and gripped the younger man’s shoulder. “Can you get me a line out? Cell, landline, anything? I have to call Kyle, and Diana needs to reach Maia, now.”

“I’ll try,” Marco said, tapping madly at a communications station keyboard. The monitor attached to it gave him nothing but flashing-red negative responses. “Nothing,” he said. “The Army cut the landlines, and they’re jamming all nonmilitary frequencies.” He kicked the wall under his workstation. “We’re completely cut off.”

“That does it,” Diana said. She drew her sidearm, removed and checked the clip, then reloaded the weapon, released the safety, and holstered it. “The cops are MIA, Jordan’s peace officers are useless, and the military’s part of the damn problem.” She slung her assault rifle across her back in the same manner that Jed wore his and picked up her extra ammunition clips as she walked with a purpose toward the door.

Stepping into her path and holding out one hand, Tom said, “Whoa! You’re not going out there.”

“The hell I’m not,” Diana said, her gaze fierce and unyielding. “I’ve had enough, Tom. If Maia’s alive—if, by some miracle, whether it was made by God or by promicin, she got out of that building in one piece—I’m gonna find her, and I’m gonna get her out of the city once and for all.”

“Diana,” Tom said, trying to talk sense to her. “It’s literally a
war zone
out there. We don’t have any backup. For all we know, we’ve been classified as targets. And if Maia’s alive, then she’s surrounded by some of the most powerful people on the planet.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Diana replied. “Your son’s a grown man. He can handle himself in a crisis. Maia’s only thirteen years old, Tom! She’s still a child, for God’s sake.”

“I know she’s thirteen, but I’d hardly call her a child, Diana. You didn’t see her in that meeting with Jordan. She handles herself better than some so-called adults I’ve known.”

Looking not the least bit persuaded by his argument, Diana said, “You have three choices, Tom. You can come with me. You can stay here.” She regarded him with an unblinking stare.

After several seconds of tense silence, he asked warily, “What’s choice number three?”

She drew her pistol and aimed it at his face.

He backed up one full stride, then stepped out of her path and let her pass. She marched past him, girded for battle, and walked away without a backward glance.

Tom watched her go, then turned back toward Marco and Jed. “You know she’s crazy, right?” The other two men nodded. “I mean, I’m not wrong about this, am I?” His friends shook their heads. “Tactically speaking, staying here is the safest choice.” More nods from his comrades.

He looked toward the video screens and saw the spreading blot of ash, dust, and smoke blanketing downtown Seattle. The fleeing crowds of civilians, the raging fires, the
mayhem in the streets, the Black Hawk helicopters entering the city’s airspace unopposed by Jordan’s people.

For a very long minute, he couldn’t decide if the gnawing sensation in his gut was his sense of duty, a pang of guilt, or a brand-new peptic ulcer.

Then he drew his sidearm, checked the clip, reloaded it, and holstered his weapon. He stuffed two magazines for his rifle into pockets on his tactical vest, walked to the door, and looked back at Jed and Marco.

“You know I have to go with her, right?”

The two men nodded in understanding.

“Hold the fort,” Tom said. “We’ll be back.”

10:56
A.M.

“Can anyone explain to me exactly why the hell our satellites even
have
self-destruct systems?”

Keith Bain, the secretary of defense, stared down the table at the Joint Chiefs and several high-ranking members of the U.S. intelligence community who were gathered in the Pentagon’s situation room, and waited for an answer to his question. No one seemed in a hurry to speak up.

Then, in a gruff, matter-of-fact voice, General Wheeler of the Air Force said, “We use it to prevent reverse engineering. If an enemy captures one of our birds, we slag it.”

“Has that ever been necessary?” Bain asked the lean and wiry man, who at fifty-one was the youngest of the chiefs.

Wheeler looked up with a tired, put-upon countenance. “Not yet, Mister Secretary.”

Bain nodded. “That’s quite confidence-inspiring, General. It would be even more impressive if our entire satellite network hadn’t just been reduced to an orbital junkyard.” Looking to the others, Bain said, “Someone spell this out for me: How bad a hit did we just take?”

Admiral Kazansky replied, “Those satellites were the basis of our Global Positioning System.” All eyes turned to the trim, white-haired officer. “Without them, our ships, aircraft, and ground units will be forced to rely on less precise means of navigation. We also can’t guarantee the accuracy of any guided-weapon systems, such as cruise missiles.”

“We can compensate for that,” added the heavy-jowled, gray-haired General Hirsch, chief of the Army. “Laser-guided munitions won’t be affected.”

“But they will be dependent on personnel deployed against forward positions,” Kazansky said. “Which in turn limits our target-selection options and operational range.”

The secretary of defense sipped his tepid black coffee and grimaced at its bitter aftertaste. “What about SIGINT?”

“The NSA’s still up on anything that passes through a landline or a switching center,” replied General Braddock, the square-jawed commandant of the U.S. Marine Corps. “But our ability to pick calls out of the air is offline. And whatever took down our birds also scrambled the Carnivore mainframes.” He nodded across the table at deputy directors from the CIA and FBI. “Which leaves you boys shit out of luck, too.”

A tall and gangly civilian with a silver crew cut and a
mustache like a wire brush interjected, “The NRO’s also down, which means most of our global tracking of foreign ships, submarines, and aircraft is offline.” Casting an almost apologetic glance at General Wheeler, he added, “And unless I’m mistaken, General, NORAD’s lost its missile-warning system.”

The room’s collective focus landed on the Air Force chief, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Secretary Bain fixed the man with a steely glare. “Is that true, General? Are we currently without an adequate defense against a possible nuclear missile attack?”

After a pause that only served to ratchet up the tension in the room, Wheeler said, “Yes, sir. For now, I’m afraid it is.”

“Holy shit,” Bain said, arching his eyebrows in disbelief. He massaged the fatigue from his forehead, then asked Kazansky, “Admiral, do we have a working landline to NS Everett?”

“Yes, Mister Secretary.” He placed his hand on the phone receiver directly in front of them. “They’re standing by on this line for new orders.”

“Good,” Bain said. “Tell them to pass the word to General Maddow: Operation Stormfront is authorized. Deploy all enhanced soldiers into Seattle immediately. We’re taking back the city.”

11:08
A.M.

A
LL THAT
K
YLE
could taste was dust. He had followed Jordan and his small but growing band of survivors as they’d started their long walk away from the fallen Collier building, but the toppled skyscraper’s cloud of ash was spreading faster than they were walking. Now the gray-brown haze lay over the city like a filthy shroud and filled Kyle’s mouth with sticky grit.

Hacking and struggling for air, he almost hadn’t heard Cassie calling his name. Squinting through the wind-driven dust, he saw her beckon him off the road. “Follow me,” she said.

He left Jordan’s group and staggered toward Cassie.

Her appearance was immaculate.
One of the advantages of existing only in my mind
, Kyle thought with a twinge of envy.

“This way,” she said, pulling him through the earthen fog. He still didn’t understand how it was possible for him to “feel” her when she wasn’t really there, but some reading
he had done in recent months—coupled with repeated viewings of
The Matrix
—had led him to think that it had something to do with his mind fooling itself into believing that she was real.

She led him to a soot-covered door that swung open as he put his weight against it. He stumbled into a small stairway enclosed on three sides by glass walls that had been rendered opaque by the ongoing deluge of pulverized human remains.

Looking up, he blinked his eyes clear and realized the staircase serviced a multistory parking garage. Voices echoed from somewhere high overhead, probably from other survivors using the garage for shelter.

He turned and glowered at Cassie, who leaned against the wall and regarded him with a smug expression. “Well, well,” Kyle said. “If it isn’t my very own personal demon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cassie replied with mock contrition. “You’d rather be coughing your guts out back in the street? Don’t let me keep you.
Vaya con Dios
.”

“Fine,” Kyle said, waving one hand at her while planting the other on his knee to support himself while he doubled over and coughed a few more times. “Thanks for the break.” He spit a bad taste from his mouth, then stood up. “What do you want?”

Feigning indignation, Cassie replied, “Who says I want something?”

“When do you not?”

She prowled toward him with a salacious smile. “Maybe I just want to keep you safe,” she said with a teasing lilt. “After all, I’d be nothing without you.” Caressing his dirty face with her pale fingertips, she added, “And vice versa.”

Kyle froze as Cassie’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, traveled down his neck, and then slid down the front of his shirt. He knew from past experience that he found it all too easy to surrender to Cassie’s charms. When she wanted to manipulate him, she had a knack for making herself irresistible. The gleam in her powder-blue eyes, the shine of light off her coppery red hair, and the seductive purr of her voice all worked together to make him her helpless puppet.

Not this time
, he decided.

“Enough,” he said, sidestepping her to free himself momentarily from her wiles. “Get to the point.”

“I was trying to,” she said with a come-hither smirk.

“You didn’t pull me in here for a quickie,” he shot back.

She unfastened the top button of her jeans. “You sure?”

“Let me know when you’re ready to be serious.” He opened the door, letting in a gust of filth.

“Fine,” she said, slapping her hand on the door and pushing it shut. “I thought we could mix business with pleasure, but you’re clearly not in the mood.”

Holding his arms from his sides, he cast an appalled look at his grime-caked clothes and grumbled, “Gee, I wonder why?”

“It’s time to start making some changes,” she said.

Sensing the gravity of her message, he eyed her warily. “Changes to what?”

“To the Movement,” Cassie said. “It’s falling apart, Kyle. You can see that, can’t you?”

He paced beside the stairs and frowned. “Exaggerate much?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” said his red-haired
hallucination. “The Navy shoots a missile at Jordan, and he sends back a press release. They blow his headquarters to bits, he knocks out some of their satellites.” She stepped into Kyle’s path and leaned her face toward his, as if they were rams locking horns. “He’s not playing to win, Kyle. And in a war, if you don’t play to win, you’re guaranteed to lose.”

Pivoting away from her, Kyle replied, “I tried telling him that. You were there. He doesn’t want to hear it.”

As Kyle walked to the gray-filmed window, Cassie retorted, “Jordan doesn’t want to listen to anyone but himself. Do you know how many of our people died in that building collapse?” He heard her walk toward him, then her voice was behind his shoulder. “Jordan’s not the leader the Movement needs, Kyle. In a time of war, we need someone in charge who isn’t afraid to use force. Someone who’s ready to get their hands dirty.”

Her fingers closed with firm but gentle intimacy on his shoulder and turned him to face her. “This is your moment, Kyle. It’s time for you to step up and lead the Movement.”