THE 4400® WELCOME TO PROMISE CITY (24 page)

Tom didn’t want to know what was in the syringe.

Ignoring Diana’s desperate plea, Abby kept her eyes tightly shut. A look of intense concentration came over her face. Her nails dug into the boys’ chests. Tom felt sick to his stomach at the sight of his nephew’s body being desecrated like this.
Leave him alone, you backstabbing nutcase!

Danny’s lifeless form remained inert. Carl was not so lucky. Convulsions rocked his body. He thrashed violently against his restraints. His back arched as though he were being electrocuted. His eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible. Swollen veins throbbed beneath his skin. An agonized moan tore itself from his throat. Clumps of ginger hair fell from his scalp. He foamed at the mouth.

His vital signs spiked alarmingly. Tom was no MD, but he’d spent enough time in hospital wards during Kyle’s coma to tell that Carl’s blood pressure, heartbeat, brain activity, and other metabolic functions were going through the roof. Warning beeps sounded from the expensive monitors. Jagged graphs shot upward. Tom guessed that Carl was only moments away from total cardiac arrest.

“Damnit!” Grayson cursed. He injected more of his experimental compound into the IV. “We’re losing him … just like the others!”

Rosita fired up the defibrillator paddles.

“No!” Abby exclaimed. Her smooth brow furrowed in
concentration. Her entire body seemed to vibrate. Sweat dripped down her face. “It’s working. I can feel it!”

Something
was definitely happening to Carl. His flesh bubbled and melted, flowing into new configurations across his writhing frame. His features blurred. Sandy blond hair—the color of Danny’s—sprouted across his scalp, replacing the loose tufts of hair upon the floor. His tattoo disappeared beneath a wave of fresh pink skin. A new face gelled atop his skull.

Danny’s face.

Oh God,
Tom thought. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn it was his dead nephew suffering before his eyes. Danny/Carl screamed in agony. Tom looked away in revulsion. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“It’s not him, Tom,” Diana called out to him. “It’s not Danny.”

I know,
Tom thought,
but still …

It was like Danny was dying all over again.

The heartrending moans gradually quieted. Tom forced himself to keep on watching as Carl’s convulsions ebbed away. His vital signs stabilized. Gasping, he sagged against the vinyl cushions of the couch. His chest heaved as his lungs sucked in air. Trembling flesh was drenched in sweat. His eyes rolled back down. They were brown now, the same color as Danny’s. A chill ran down Tom’s spine as his nephew’s eyes looked back at him.

“Did it work?” he asked weakly. Even his voice was Danny’s. “Did we do it?”

Abby withdrew her hands from Carl and Danny. She looked exhausted, but exuberant. “Absolutely!”

Grayson undid Carl’s restraints. He produced a hand mirror from a tray of medical instruments. “See for yourself.”

“Holy crap!” Carl stared at his new face in wonder. His fingers explored the unfamiliar contours. He looked over at Abby. “And I’m not going to die?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” She let out a sigh of relief, clearly glad not to have more blood on her hands. “Congratulations. You’re the first person to ever survive a total DNA transplant.”

Grayson looked like he wanted to break out a bottle of champagne. He enthusiastically shook Carl’s hand while Rosita looked on beatifically. “Now we just need to inject him with promicin and see if he develops Danny’s ability.”

“He will,” Abby said confidently. “He’s a perfect match now.” Her face glowed with pride at her accomplishment. “And this is just the beginning. Now that we’ve perfected the procedure, we can create hundreds of Danny clones to spread the gift of promicin. Just think of it,” she rhapsodized, “a veritable army of carriers dispatched throughout the world, creating all-new outbreaks everywhere they go. It will be the Great Leap Forward all over again, but on a global scale.”

More like another fifty/fifty,
Tom thought,
killing off half the world’s population.
He couldn’t imagine a greater tragedy.
And all because these fiends wouldn’t let Danny rest in peace.

“Not so fast,” Diana said. “Don’t forget. The authorities know about ubiquinone now. They can use it to combat any outbreaks, just like they did in Seattle.”

“They can try,” Abby said, unconcerned. “And maybe, if they’re really on the ball, they can spare a few key population centers for a time. But what about the Third World and such? Once the epidemic starts raging worldwide, I doubt that any government has the resources to keep it from spreading out of control. Nobody has
that
many U-Pills stockpiled. The Movement has seen to that.”

Diana had no ready response.
That’s because,
Tom realized,
we both know she’s right.

“If you’d like to leave a message, press one.”

Kyle swore in frustration. He stabbed the keypad on his cell phone. “Dad, this is me again. Kyle. Give me a call as soon as you can, okay? I’m going nuts here.”

His father’s voice mail beeped back at him.

“Crap!” Kyle angrily threw the phone across his office. It smacked down between the cushions of the couch on the opposite side of the room. He paced restlessly, pulling on his hair in frustration. It had been hours since he’d squealed to his dad about the GOC and that closed plasma center, and he hadn’t heard anything since. He’d tried his dad’s home phone, his work phone, his cell phone, even his email address, but just couldn’t get hold of his father. Diana wasn’t returning his urgent calls either. Hell, he’d even tried calling his dad’s new girlfriend, Meghan Doyle, without any luck.
Why isn’t anyone getting back to me? Are they deliberately cutting me out of the loop?

“Better hope nobody checks your phone records,” Cassie scolded him. She sat behind his desk, paging
through a photocopy of the White Light prophecies. “Might have a hard time explaining to the folks around here why you kept calling the director of NTAC.”

Kyle was in no mood for her lectures. “Is that the best advice you can offer right now? In that case, maybe you should just leave me alone.”

A knock at the door interrupted. The door opened a crack and Susan Meldar, Kyle’s personal assistant, poked her head into the office. “Kyle?” Concerned eyes looked him over. “Is everything okay in here?”

To his embarrassment, he realized that his outburst a few moments ago had been audible even through the door. “We’re fine—I mean, I’m fine,” he corrected himself. “Sorry about the noise.” A casual shrug dismissed the incident. “A little too much stress, you know?”

“Anything I can help you with?” Susan volunteered. She still looked a bit worried about Kyle’s state of mind. “Maybe a cup of herbal tea?”

He shook his head. “No thanks,” he said, mustering a weak smile. “Seriously, I’m fine. Just got some family stuff to deal with, that’s all.” He tried to laugh it off. “You know how crazy parents can be.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said before retreating back into the hall. The door clicked into place behind her. Muffled footsteps headed back to her desk.

Kyle breathed a sigh of relief.
Great,
he thought sarcastically.
Now I’m starting to lose it in front of the staff. Some shaman I am.

“That was smooth,” Cassie teased him. It seemed like she was always with him now, never giving him a chance
to think by himself. “You need to watch your temper, Kyle. People look up to you here. You need to set an example. “

“Thanks for the tip,” he said irritably. Crossing the room, he retrieved his phone from the seat cushions. Irrationally, he checked his messages again, even though only a few minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked them.

Nothing.

He resisted an urge to hurl the phone again.
That’s it,
he thought.
I can’t stay cooped up here any longer. I need to know what’s going on.

The copy of the prophecies mocked him. For all their wisdom, they didn’t contain the info he needed right at this very moment. They were no help at all.

Just like Cassie.

There was only one place left to turn.

Jordan,
he thought.
Maybe Jordan knows something.

He’d promised his dad not to mention any of this to Jordan, but that was before he and Diana had dropped off the face of the earth.
I don’t have to tell Jordan the whole story,
he rationalized,
but maybe I can pry some information out of him without tipping my hand. It’s worth a try.

Anything was better than suffering in suspense one more minute.

His mind made up, he exited his office and walked briskly down the hall. To his surprise, Cassie didn’t try to stop him. Perhaps she knew better than to try and talk him out of it? The carpeted hallway was bustling with activity as his fellow positives went about their business, attending to the rebuilding of Seattle and, by extension,
the entire world. The hubbub of numerous phone calls and conversations testified to the vitality of the Movement. A framed portrait of Jordan hung upon a wall. Muzak, performed by the Promise City Boys’ Choir, played softly in the background. The preternaturally gifted singers hit notes that even castrati would have balked at.

Kyle felt strangely self-conscious. How many people had heard him erupt before? Was he just being paranoid, or could he really feel dozens of eyes targeting him as he strolled past the various cubicles outside his office? Susan Meldar watched him warily from behind her computer. Her hands were nowhere near the keyboard; she searched the Web just by waving her fingers at the screen. A group of chatting coworkers, socializing around the water cooler, fell strangely silent as he walked by them. He stumbled over a bump in the carpet. For all he knew, someone was reading his thoughts at this very moment.

It took all his effort just to act like he had nothing on his mind.

Jordan had the corner office at the end of the hall. As usual, two bodyguards were posted outside. Galloway could induce blinding headaches and seizures just by looking at someone. Quinn could smell gunpowder and other explosives from hundreds of feet away. Neither man moved out of the way as Kyle approached.

Kyle played it cool. “I need to see Jordan.”

“He asked not to be disturbed,” Galloway said without too much attitude. Kyle had first met the man in Evanston
a year ago. He had been with Collier since the beginning.

“Even by me?” Smiling broadly, he pulled rank a little. “C’mon, dudes. I’m Mister Prophecy, remember? Jordan always has time for me.”

The guards looked at each other, then stepped out of the way. They were used to Kyle coming and going pretty freely. “Okay,” Quinn relented. “But make it snappy.”

Kyle found Jordan at his desk, conversing via a headset. Rain pelted the picture windows behind him. A flat-screen television set, mounted to one wall, cast a phosphorescent glow. The TV was set on mute. Jordan used a remote to flick through various cable news channels as he spoke on the phone.

“Good, good. Glad to hear that our friend has been recovered. Just remember, we need to hang on to our asset now that he’s out of the box again. Under no circumstances should our present allies be allowed to retain possession of the individual in question …”

Jordan noticed Kyle’s entrance. A flicker of annoyance flashed across his bearded features. “Excuse me,” he said to whomever he was talking to. He looked up at his visitor. “Now is not a good time, Kyle.”

He glanced again at the TV screen. Kyle saw that the closed-captioned broadcast was reporting on a citywide blackout in Philadelphia. He gave Jordan a time-out signal. “Anything I should know about?”

“Not at all,” Jordan replied. “I’m merely negotiating the release of a political prisoner on the East Coast. But I really don’t have time to chat now.”

Kyle didn’t care. “Just a quick question,” he said apologetically.
“What do you know about something called the Global Outreach Committee?”

“Is that all?” The name did not seem to put Jordan on guard. “It’s a minor publicity initiative. To promote promicin-positive coverage overseas.” He gave Kyle a puzzled look. “Why so interested?”

“No real reason,” he lied. “Just saw the name on some paperwork. Wondered what it was all about.”

Jordan sighed impatiently. “I’m sure somebody on the tenth floor can fill in all the details for you, but, honestly, you should not be wasting your time and energy on such minutiae. We have plenty of talented PR people disseminating our message to the masses. You need to focus on the big picture instead. That’s your true purpose.” His gaze darted back to the TV screen. “Now then, I really need to get back to this call.”

Kyle wasn’t done yet. “One more thing. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from my dad this afternoon? Or Diana Skouris?”

“Believe it or not, Kyle,” he said with a trace of irritation in his voice, “I don’t spend every waking hour obsessing over what your father and his partner are up to. If you’re having problems with Tom for some reason, I suggest you work that out with him, not me.”

Kyle felt like he was getting the bum’s rush. “You brushing me off, Jordan?”

“Not at all.” Jordan sighed again, more wearily this time. “But, alas, my gifts do not include stopping time in its tracks.” He adopted a more conciliatory tone. “Perhaps we can discuss this later?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kyle said sourly. He realized he wasn’t going to be getting any more out of Jordan. He turned his back on his mentor and walked away. “Later.”

Jordan let him leave. “Please shut the door behind you.”

Fuming, Kyle marched back to his own office. He slammed the door shut, not caring anymore who might hear. His dad was missing, maybe even in trouble, and he was the only person who seemed to give a damn.

Cassie was waiting on the couch. “Calm down, Kyle. Just let it go.”

“Easy for you to say,” he snapped. “You don’t have a father. You never did.”

“Ouch,” she said, looking hurt. “That was unkind.”

He instantly regretted his words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take this out on you. This is just tearing me up inside.” Guilt added to his anxiety. “I
gave
Dad that address, Cassie. What if that was a big mistake, like you said? Suppose he’s in danger because of me?”