CHAPTER 83
“I DIDN’T THINK IT WAS POSSIBLE for me to hate a plan of yours more than I hate your moving Kozlow into the Embassy if he comes through like you expect,” Christopher said as we stepped out of our floater gate outside of Cliff’s hidden base on Kharg Island, in the Persian Gulf off the coast of Iran. “But, hard as it is to believe, I hate this plan even more.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Fatherhood apparently suits you, but boy, is it cramping your kick-butt style.”
“I agree with Missus Martini, son. Why so tense?”
“Oh, I don’t know. We’re just trusting someone who’s been our sworn enemy for years with not only Chuck’s life, but Jeff’s, James’, Tim’s, Buchanan’s, and Siler’s. Why am I the only one who sees all the ways this could go wrong?”
“You’re not,” Mossy said. “You’re just the one complaining about it the most.”
“Mossy is my favorite, I’m just sayin’.”
If Kozlow could be trusted, we had all the intel we could need for what to expect in terms of raiding this stronghold, including the fact that while I’d killed the original model, there were several clones of Nerida hanging about. Hers had been made with more autonomy than Lowe’s, in part because her powers had been stronger than his.
Once we’d gotten the relevant info from Kozlow, we’d sent Jeremy back to the palace to brief Camilla and the others on what was going on, gather a variety of the supplies I’d requested from Raheem, and stand by.
Per Jeremy via Camilla, as far as our worldwide intelligence knew, we only had Chuckie, Rahmi, Adriana, Francine, Wruck, Len, and Kyle unaccounted for. We at least had a guess for where Chuckie and Rahmi were, but the others were officially M.I.A.
We’d verified that everyone we’d rescued from the Burj Khalifa was safe and well, and had also gotten an influx of weapons and ammo from Dulce sent to those of us still hanging out at the top of the Burj Khalifa and not getting to enjoy the view.
I’d even taken the time to fill my empty clips because I’d had it. Despite hyperspeed and everyone’s wishes to the contrary, the various rescues and all the stuff with Kozlow and Nerida had taken time, and the prep for our guerilla attacks had taken more. It was after midnight when we finally rolled Mission: Trojan Horse. Actively chose not to worry about what Cliff was doing to Chuckie, as well as avoiding worrying about the others listed as missing, but it took effort.
Once my strike team was in position, the other half of the team would take a floater gate to where Cliff would expect them to exit. During our prep time Kozlow had fixed all our goggles—apparently his talent had been boosted by equipment in the Burj Khalifa’s broadcast level, and he’d been able to sort of short out minor kinds of equipment. Not cell phones, but our goggles had fallen under the level of what he could affect. And, happily, repairing them was within his ability, too.
So, we were goggled up—though White and I still had our gas masks, and Christopher had Buchanan’s, clipped to our belts. Christopher had obtained dry pants and shoes because the Elves never failed to deliver, I had my purse, White had the rolling purse, and Mossy had sassy Turleen attitude. We were good.
We were also far fewer than anyone would have liked. However, in order to both impress Cliff and ensure that Jeff wasn’t going into the Lair of the White Jerk alone, the rest of the guys kind of had to be with him.
Had stopped my music while we were planning, but my earpiece was still in my ear and it was time to go back listening to the Algar Channel.
Christopher looked like he wanted to give me grief over this, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Looked at my playlists, because presuming Algar was going to help was not my wisest choice. Of course, sometimes he was more helpful than others—found an “Island Retreat” playlist that I certainly hadn’t created. Hit play because I was good at comprehending obvious hints.
Was rewarded with Frontline Assembly’s “Search and Destroy.” Which was nice, since our first part of the plan was to search the island to ensure that we weren’t all in the biggest trap known to mankind.
Infrared was a blessing here, because this island had been ruined by bombing during one of the many wars in this region and it wasn’t loaded with safe places to walk, let alone run. In the day it would be bad enough—in the black of night it sucked. A lot.
We took off at a slow hyperspeed trot, Christopher leading with White bringing up the rear, and me with Mossy, flying low and slow next to me, in the middle.
We did the outer perimeter first. And we found something within thirty seconds—a dead body. As Christopher turned it over, realized it wasn’t just any dead body—it was Nerida. Or, I had to figure, her clone.
“What killed her?” I asked quietly.
“I can’t see anything,” Christopher said. “She looks unharmed.”
“You shot the original,” White said. “And Lowe’s clones did what he did and said what he said.”
“So, what, you think that it’s really just like Multiple Man? If the original is killed, all the clones die? Russell said hers were more autonomous than Lowe’s.”
“That doesn’t mean the basic structure and connection is different,” Mossy said. “Let’s mark where the body is and move on.”
Move on we did, and we completed the outer perimeter of the island. No traps that we found, but we did find something else—a body every quarter mile or so. All the bodies were Nerida, all appeared to have nothing wrong with them, and all appeared dead and not in stasis.
As we checked the last body, my music changed to Pat Benatar’s “My Clone Sleeps Alone.” Reminded myself of two things—the first song had said to search and destroy. And we hadn’t lived by the rule of the double-tap.
We were now all equipped with suppressors for our guns. Pulled mine and put a bullet through this clone’s head. The body jerked as I did this, as if it was trying to do a sit-up.
“Why did you choose to make noise when we’re sneaking around?” Christopher asked, seeing as suppressors didn’t work in real life the way they did in movies.
“The body shouldn’t have done that,” Mossy said, before I could reply. “A body dead that long shouldn’t have moved in that way. That was a death throe.”
We all looked at each other and the others pulled out their pistols. We’d found, with this one, thirty-nine bodies. “Okay, Kitty, let me rephrase. Great plan, let’s go make more noise. My dad and I will go to the farthest point from here, split up, and start shooting. You two split from here and do the same. We know we can stop when we run into each other.”
We all nodded, Christopher grabbed White and they took off. I went to the right and Mossy went to the left.
Had plenty of bullets in this clip as I ran at hyperspeed, shot a possibly dead body in the head, watched it do that death jerk, ran off again, shot again, and so on. Simple math said that I shouldn’t have to do more than ten bodies before I ran into White or Christopher.
Only I hit eleven, and there was no sign of either one of them.
Ran on, got to number twelve. Did the shooting and kept going. If something had happened, I’d have a better chance of finding out what if I continued with the plan, such as it was. Reached number fifteen. Had to drop my clip and load in a new one. Also had to force panic away.
Kept on. Was definitely at the part of the island that Christopher and White would have gone to. No sign of them, no bullets in the clone heads. Fixed the latter, worried about the former, and kept on going.
Ran into Mossy at body number twenty-one, presumably because I was taller and therefore faster. My music changed to “Old Friend” by Rancid. Had that right. “I’m so glad to see you I’d be willing to not shoot this clone.”
Mossy shot the clone instead. “I’m glad to see you, too. How many did you shoot?”
“Twenty, not counting the first one. You?”
“With this one, eighteen. So we’ve solved that problem and found a bigger one.”
“This is how our luck goes. All the time. I mean, I shouldn’t even be surprised that half of our team has already disappeared somehow. And yet, I am.”
“Being able to be surprised is a good quality. Thoughts for how we search for them?”
“Together, potentially holding hands. I think we should go back a couple bodies and see if we can tell if they ever made it there. I didn’t stop to look.”
The area where I sort of guessed Christopher had considered his and White’s starting point was near the now extremely defunct Kharg airport, so that’s where we went. It was, like the rest of the place, a ruin.
“I wonder where the bathroom with the gate is,” I said half-jokingly. “Wait. This was an airport. There would absolutely be a gate here.”
“Wouldn’t it have been ruined in the bombings that clearly happened here?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Christopher may have used it—superbeings showed up all over, after all. Maybe they went to check for it.”
“Maybe.” Mossy didn’t sound convinced. “That seems more like what you’d do. Christopher doesn’t seem to be someone who alters plans at a whim.”
“I’m going to resent that later, Mossy, don’t think I’m not. I have no other ideas. So unless you do . . .”
“Why yes, let’s search through the rubble here as opposed to elsewhere.”
We headed into the rubble of what had once been possibly one of the smallest airports in existence. And my music changed to “All My Friends” by Counting Crows. Considered this. Came up with nothing.
Mossy put his hand on my arm. “Listen,” he said softly.
Did. Heard something, a low murmur. “Voices?” I asked in kind.
He nodded. I hunched down, gun still ready. He took point and we crept forward. Reached a still-standing wall. The murmuring was louder here. And there was a glow. Not a lot, but there was light with the voices.
Rounded the corner of the wall to find a man who looked Middle Eastern and who definitely had tattoos that indicated he was in G-Company standing there. He grabbed our guns before we could fire.
“You’re finally here. We’ve been waiting for you. Impatiently.”