Threshold (58 page)

Bishop picked up the remote from his bed and unmuted the TV mounted on the corner of the room. The voice of the reporter speaking on screen was excited. “We’re just moments away from President Duncan’s impromptu address to the nation. There has been a lot of speculation about what he’ll say. Since Senator Marrs revealed evidence that the president knew about the impending attacks on the Siletz Reservation and Fort Bragg and not only failed to act, but refused to act, he has remained silent behind the walls of the White House, giving no indication about his intentions. As the investigation proceeds, streamlined by CIA director Dominick Boucher’s full disclosure, the president’s options may be limited and out of his hands. Many expect him to fight the charges, but Boucher himself has asked for the president to step down.”

“This is bullshit,” Queen said.

“He’s doing the right thing,” Knight said.

“This is how it has to be,” Bishop said. “He understands that.”

Queen crossed her arms over her chest. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The reporter held his hand to his ear. “Okay, the president is taking the stage. We now go live to the White House.”

The image cut to an empty podium. Duncan took the stage looking very serious, but well. His posture was straight. This wasn’t a defeat for him, it was a transition. To something new. Possibly something better. He paused before the microphone, looked over the gathered sea of reporters, and spoke in a clear voice. “As the president of the United States, I swore to protect this nation from all enemies. In this endeavor, I have failed. I have made mistakes that are unforgivable.” He paused and faced the camera. “Some have said the president of this country is the leader of the free world. I would disagree with that. I represent the people of this country and as such it is you who are the leaders of the free world. And you need someone who represents you … better than I have.”

He paused again. “As of nine o’clock this morning I have resigned as the President of the United States—” A loud murmur became a torrent of shouted questions as the press corps could no longer contain themselves. Duncan raised his voice over the din. “Vice President Chambers is now the president and he will answer your questions.”

With that, Duncan stepped down. The white-haired former vice president shook his hand and then took the stage.

Bishop shut the TV off.

In the silence that followed, Bishop, Queen, and Knight immediately became aware of a presence in the room. They turned to find George Pierce standing over King’s unconscious form—holding an empty syringe.

Queen stormed toward him. “What the hell are you doing!”

Pierce held his hands up defensively, still holding the syringe. “Trying to help.”

Queen snatched the syringe from his hand. “What was in this?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“An … an apple seed. Crushed. Liquefied.”

She whipped the syringe into a nearby trash can. It shattered inside. “You injected King with an
apple seed
?”

“From the Garden of the Hesperides. But I’m not really even sure they
are
apple seeds.”

The name of the garden sounded familiar to Queen, but she continued her death stare at Pierce. She knew the man would never intentionally hurt King. They were like brothers. But desperate people sometimes make deadly mistakes.

“I got them from Alexander.”

Queen’s temper flared. “Alexander!”

Pierce took a step back and found Queen more intimidating than a golem. “I stole it. In Rome. From Alexander’s gallery.”

Queen knew the story, how they found Alexander beneath the ruins of the Roman Forum. She took a deep breath and eased back. “Did you test it?”

“I only had enough to—”

“Can you two be quiet, please?” Fiona stood behind Queen rubbing her eyes. Knight stood behind her, urging Queen to calm down with his hands.

Queen shook her head and stepped back. “Sorry, kid.”

Fiona stepped to King’s bed and climbed up into it. Laying next to King, her wiry body dressed in pink sweatpants and a Powerpuff Girls T-shirt, Fiona looked more fragile than ever. But they all knew she was strong. She had proven that when she had faced down a one-hundred-foot-tall golem and saved all their lives.

“Remember, he can hear what we’re saying,” Fiona said. She turned to King’s face and said, “I love you, Dad.” She snuggled into him and felt a hand on her back, squeezing her tight.

She opened her eyes slowly as the realization of whose hand was holding her set in. George Pierce stood on the other side of the bed, his face smiling, his eyes wet. Then King’s other arm reached up and wrapped around her. She buried her face into his chest with a sob.

King was alive.

Her father was alive.

King opened his eyes. He saw Pierce first and grinned. “I heard what you said. Alexander won’t be happy if he finds out.”

Pierce shrugged. “What’s he gonna do?”

King surveyed the room, seeing Knight and Queen. Then he looked over at Bishop and eyed his mass of bandages. “No more regeneration?”

“No more regen,” Bishop said with a smile. “It’s gone.”

“And Rook?” King asked, looking at Queen.

“No word,” she said with a frown.

As he ran his fingers through Fiona’s hair, he asked her, “You’re okay?”

She just squeezed him in response.

“The docs gave her a clean bill of health this morning,” Knight said.

King’s eyes drifted around the room again, looking beyond the group. “Where are my parents? Do they know?”

“We haven’t been able to reach them,” Knight said.

As egocentric as it was, King knew his parents would be waiting by the phone for news. His mother always did when she knew he was deployed. And with them knowing exactly what he was up against and who he was fighting for, she would have—

A burst of panic made King feel queasy. He sat up straight. “Do I have any clothes?”

Fiona grinned. “I made them bring some. Just in case.” She pointed to the dresser across from the bed. On top sat his signature jeans and black Elvis T-shirt. He began to get out of bed.

“What are you doing?” Queen asked. “You just came out of a coma.”

King stood, steady, tall, and healthy. “Whatever he gave me has me back to normal. A little better than normal, actually, and I need to leave.”

King lifted his leg and unbuckled the liquid cast. After it fell to the floor, he wiggled his ankle. The apple seed was like a single dose of regeneration. He stood and bounced his weight on his legs. Never better.

“Where are you going?” Pierce asked.

“It’s likely there are other Ridley golems out there. If they know about my parents—”

He didn’t have to finish. Queen stepped out of his way. “I’m coming.”

“Me, too,” Knight said.

King turned to Pierce as he took his clothes to the bathroom. He motioned to Fiona and then to Bishop. “Keep an eye on them.”

Thirty seconds later, King was dressed, leaving the hospital and a string of stunned doctors and nurses behind him.

Twenty minutes later, Knight pulled his car into the parking lot of the hotel in which King’s parents had been hidden away. He pulled into a space and turned off the car. “They’re in two-twenty.”

Knight and Queen took out their sidearms and chambered rounds. “Have an extra?” King asked.

“Glove compartment.”

King opened it and found a Sig Sauer.

They exited the car and vaulted up the stairs to the second floor. King quickly led the way to room two-twenty. He paused outside the door, letting Knight and Queen take positions on the other side, just in case.

King knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again. Harder. Followed by, “Mom. Dad. It’s Jack.”

He tried the doorknob and found it locked.

“I’ll do it,” Queen whispered. She stood across from the door and slammed it with her foot. Wood shattered from the powerful blow and the door swung inward.

King moved in. Weapon raised. Prepared for anything.

Except what he found.

There were two queen-sized beds in the room. On each lay a blood-soaked human body.

King launched forward and flipped over the nearest body, dead for days. But the man was not one of his parents. Nor was the other body. Both men held weapons. And both had been shot through the head. King remembered the story his mother had told him, about shooting the man who had come for them. It now seemed all the more believable.

But the fact that these men were dead didn’t supply any hope. There was no way to know how many assailants there had been. And his parents were gone, perhaps dead, dying, or on the run.

King and Queen checked the bodies for identification, Knight searched the bathroom.

As Queen rifled through the dead man’s pockets, she spotted a necklace poking out from under one of the beds. She picked it up and looked if over—a silver chain and cross. The cross design was simple and held a small black stone in the middle.

King saw it dangling. His eyes widened as he reached out for the necklace.

She handed it to him. “Recognize it?”

“Yeah,” King said. “It was Julie’s.”

As he looked the necklace over, memories of it around his sister’s neck came back to him. It had been a gift from their father. After she died in the plane crash, his mother wore it. Every day. He’d never seen her take it off. But here it was, on the floor.

King unclipped the chain, wrapped it around his neck, and refastened it. With the necklace hidden beneath his shirt, he turned to Queen. “Call it in.”

Queen nodded, switched on her cell, and left the room.

“King,” Knight called from the bathroom. “Check this out.”

The bathroom looked normal until Knight stepped to the side, revealing the sink. A board had been placed atop the basin, serving as a workspace. The makeshift countertop held several small electronic components, spools of impossibly thin wires, miniature microchips, a magnifying glass, soldering tools, and pill-sized capsules. Knight picked up one of the completed devices and handed it to King.

A mixture of confusion, anger, and sadness filled King as he looked at the tiny device that perfectly matched the tracking device he’d found hidden in his pocket. His chest ached as the memory of his last good-bye with his parents returned. His mother’s firm embrace. The slow slide of her hand against his side as they separated.

His mother had bugged him.

Betrayed
him.

“What do you think?” Knight asked.

It pained him to say it, but he couldn’t deny the evidence. “My parents are still Russian spies, and they almost got us killed.”

As his mind raced to put together any missing pieces, anything he’d missed, something else nagged at him. Some other unanswered question. Then he remembered. Turning to Knight, he asked, “What happened to Ridley?”

EPILOGUE

Somewhere

THE TEN-FOOT-SQUARE CELL
was empty, save for a single chair and its occupant, a prisoner, and his interrogator. The man in the chair was gagged—jaw spread wide holding a red ball gag. He was strapped to the chair around the chest and waist. There was no need to bind his arms and legs because he had neither.

His interrogator walked around him in lazy circles. “This can end whenever you want it to.”

The man’s shouted reply was muffled and distorted, but the tone was defiant.

The interrogator chuckled and jabbed a finger into the open wound where the man’s shoulder should have been.

The man wailed in horrible pain as the interrogator twisted his finger deeper into the flesh until it struck the man’s rib cage.