Face Off

CHAPTER 48

THREE DANANNS FROM the tactical team raced through the air, carrying Laura, Sinclair, and Whiting. The wind whipping past their ears removed any possibility of audible conversation. Below them, the landscape whirred by in a smear of darkened foliage and intermittent streetlights. Laura didn’t want to risk time getting Whiting to a healer by driving, and she wanted to be back in D.C. as soon as possible.

She had already done a sending to Genda Boone about their discovery, which set in motion security protocols across the city. Laura monitored the InterSec alert channels, a constant stream of sendings updating security in real time. Even with the Danann’s shield barrier protecting her from wind shear, alerts slammed back at her as agencies scrambled to respond.

The district is in lockdown. The Washington Monument has been taken over by unknown sources, she sent to Sinclair and Whiting.

Sinclair’s sending came in with a snide tone. I wonder who they could be?

What a brilliant idea. Whoever thought of it is wasted on this, Whiting sent.

Excuse me? Laura sent.

The Monument is perfectly shaped and granite. Remember your fundamental ward skills, he sent.

Laura stared in disbelief at Whiting across the open patch of sky. Danu’s blood, are you kidding me?

Not at all. It’s brilliant, he sent.

The Danann carrying Sinclair was somewhere behind. I don’t get it, Sinclair sent.

They’re going to turn the damned Monument into a giant ward stone to absorb essence, Laura sent.

Is that possible? he asked.

Theoretically. With the right configurations and ability sourcing, sent Whiting.

How big a field will it generate? Laura asked.

Impossible to tell without knowing all the variables. A mile? Two? Simply amazing, Whiting sent.

Well within range of the Guildhouse, she thought. And practically every major government facility. A smudge of light appeared on the horizon, the top of the Monument visible from thirty miles away, the tallest point in the city. As she spotted it, it took on the sharpness of its more recognizable shape. Laura estimated their arrival in fifteen or twenty minutes.

Genda sent a brief mention of shots fired at the Guildhouse and that an evacuation was under way. Laura sorted through the InterSec sendings, creating a picture of the defense forces being set up. Every conceivable branch of law enforcement had been rolled out—Marine units lining the Mall, various police agencies locking down and guarding government buildings, and private security firms rolling out their hardware.

The Coast Guard had units surging up the Potomac. Civilian government staff—including the president and legislators—were being whisked to secure facilities.

As they neared the outskirts of the city, streaks of light marked the paths of F-16 fighter jets. Blackhawk helicopters hung like dark clouds ready to release a storm. A sudden shimmer in the distance rippled on the horizon, the lights and buildings of downtown blurring out. A confused chatter broke the calm tone of the emergency sendings, then everything went silent.

Laura tried sending to Genda but received no response. She tried tapping any of her regular communication-sending channels to no result. She did a broadcast sending open to anyone who could hear, only to receive the same back from bewildered fey, all of whom were not in the city center.

I lost contact. I think the essence dampening has been activated, she sent. They would have to fly blind the rest of the way in. She hoped all the human forces had been given her heading coordinates before sendings were jammed.

Laura’s stomach clenched as a fighter jet soared past them and raced toward the city. In its wake, the three Dananns fought against air turbulence, spreading farther apart. As they regained control, a sudden drop in altitude brought them dangerously close to the rooftops.

Take us in low. You’re going to lose your flying abilities when we get closer, she sent.

In unison, the Dananns descended, skimming over the trees of the outer neighborhoods. They passed through an abrupt break in the surrounding air, a space devoid of essence. The Dananns struggled to maintain altitude without essence to use as lift. Banking sharply, they coasted on air currents until they were out of the empty-essence zone, skirting over George Washington University and tacking north of the White House. Laura directed them to set down in Mount Vernon Square, which was outside the dampening field.

The Dananns brought them down onto a clear sidewalk space. Around them, abandoned cars clogged the streets. National Guard troops marched through, moving vehicles and setting up a line of defense to the south in the direction of the Mall. Civilians milled about, most running north and east, while others stood in confusion or fascination. Tanks rumbled into positions throughout the square as emergency vehicles swept south.

Laura held Whiting by the arm while she searched for Sinclair. She spotted him leaning over between two cars. “Jono, what the hell are you doing?” she shouted.

He hurried to them, pale and sweating. “Sorry. I’m not so good with heights.”

Surprised, she tried not to smile at the unexpectedness of it. “We need to get down to the Guildhouse.”

“No problem,” Sinclair said. He stepped into the street as a truck carrying National Guardsmen barreled toward him. The truck screeched to a halt as he held up a hand. Guns appeared out the windows and back of the truck. “Whoa! We’re friend-lies. We’ve got intel for command up the street.”

“Nice way to almost get shot,” Laura said, as she and Whiting joined him in the street. She held up her InterSec badge. “We need to get up there ASAP.”

The driver of the truck wasted no time arguing. Sinclair helped Whiting into the back while Laura jumped onto the running board. “If I wasn’t going in the same direction, you guys would be roadkill,” the driver shouted.

Laura snorted in derision. “If that’s what you need to think, go ahead. Get moving.”

Once past Franklin Park, the street emptied of civilians. Military personnel drove or marched south, the transport truck weaving through the various contingents. If there was one thing Washington, D.C., had down, it was emergency procedures. As they neared the Guildhouse, the sound of gunfire carried through the engine roar of army vehicles.

Anxiety gripped Laura as the ambient essence around her began to fade. She had never seen such a thing. The bright colors of essence paled the closer they approached the Guildhouse. It was worse than at the med lab. There, it had been one room, something she had experienced from time to time. Out on the street, though, the effect was enormous and widespread.

The dampening field bore down like a layer of heat and humidity. She felt light-headed, as if she had stepped into a different reality and didn’t have any ability. She hadn’t realized how she had taken for granted the existence of essence, how it energized her. She wondered if that was what it felt like to be human.

Visual chaos confronted them as they reached the back of the Guildhouse. Danann security agents patrolled the surrounding roofs, their black uniforms shadows against the night sky. Brownie guards gathered on the sidewalk—some of them armed with automatic weapons—preventing anyone from approaching within a block. Armored vehicles from the U.S. government blocked the way to the front of the building. Scattered among the security and vehicles, fey of all kinds clustered, coordinating an evacuation. That many of them were dressed in formal attire from the reception added a surreal element.

In a lemon yellow evening gown, Genda Boone stood out like a beacon among the dark security uniforms. She had her cell phone pressed against her ear as they approached. “Yes, Damine, and make sure my upgrade to business class is all set. Last time there was a snafu . . . Of course not, dear. No one in their right mind would think it was your fault. Oh, and can you call Dmitri for me? I’ve been standing in this wind for over an hour and will need a touch-up tomorrow. Thanks. I have to go. Mariel’s here, looking all business.”

She closed her cell, grabbed Whiting by the hands, and air-kissed his cheek. “Ian, darling, I’m so glad you’re all right even if you ruined my dinner party.” Still holding his hand, she stepped off the curb. “Let’s go, everyone.”

At the corner, she waved at a tall elven woman huddled with a large group near evacuation buses. “Alfra, call me tomorrow. I want to hear all about your bus ride.” She snickered as they crossed the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not that catty, but that woman has the biggest ego you can imagine. I’d be surprised if she’s ever ridden a bus in her life.”

Dubious, Sinclair looked at Laura as they quick-stepped after Genda. “She’s in charge?”

Genda called over her shoulder, “Yes, she is. And who might you be?”

Laura’s warning look checked his response. “Um . . . Bill,” Sinclair said.

Genda led them around to the front. “A good omen. Everyone knows I like big bills.” She chuckled at her own joke as they all ducked at the sound of gunfire.

Armed military personnel ran past them toward the Mall. She stopped next to a Stryker, one of the army’s armored assault vehicles. “Now, let me bring you up to speed. We’re staging a diversion on the other side of the Mall to draw off their forces, but it probably won’t work very well. They’re intent on the Guildhouse and have already taken over the front of the Hoover Building. That’s what all the gunfire is, if you were wondering.”

She slipped her arm around Whiting. “I’m sorry, Ian. I tried to get Rhys to release Terryn, but he refuses.” She waved her free hand. “I swear, the man sees conspiracies everywhere. Anyway, I’ll try to get him to change his mind, but you’ll have to go in without him. Everything’s nearly in place.”

“Genda, you need to slow down. What is the mission plan?” Laura asked.

Genda turned to Whiting. “You haven’t told her?”

Whiting looked both embarrassed and baffled. “I thought we were talking theoretically.”

Genda patted his arm as if to soothe him. “Ian and I were discussing the situation on your way in. They’re using a ring formation around the Monument with the majority of their forces in the outer ring. Their plan appears to be to disable our fey forces, which, frankly, they’ve done, so we’re turning the tables and using mainly human forces and a ground attack to get you to the Monument. Ian thinks he can deactivate the leanansidhe pod once you secure it.”

Sinclair stared at Laura. “Once we secure it.”

“I can’t go in without Terryn macCullen. Cress will not be in her right mind. I need someone she trusts,” Whiting said.

Genda patted him on the chest. “Oh, Ian, you were her doctor or something, weren’t you? Of course she’ll trust you.”

He shook his head. “That’s a huge risk, Genda. We haven’t spoken in years.”

“I’ll go,” Laura said. Everyone stared at her. She shrugged. “I’m her friend.”

“You’re not going in there without me,” Sinclair said. Genda turned to him with a frown. Sinclair shrugged. “I’m her friend.”

Genda sighed with deep exasperation. “Really, I do not understand how Terryn ran his department with all this . . . this . . . friendship, but we need to get this done. Fine, friends, whatever is necessary. Ian thinks the leanansidhe is on the main level of the Washington Monument—don’t you, dear?—so we’re going to provide air cover while you storm the plaza. This DeWinter fellow is either at the top or the bottom of the Monument or in the Blackhawk.”

“Blackhawk?” Laura interrupted.

Tapping her hand off the side of her forehead, Genda shook head. “Yes, sorry. So many details have cropped up. They have a Blackhawk in the air. It’s armed with two hellfire missiles, but I don’t think we need to worry about it.”

“Are you serious?” Sinclair asked, dumbfounded.

She nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, very. They’ve had a clear shot of the White House and the Capitol, but haven’t fired. The humans are quite nervous about the whole situation, but, really, it’s obvious they’ve been moving in on the Guildhouse for the last thirty minutes. Our analysis is that they’re waiting to get their ground force closer before attacking and picking off anyone who tries to escape. They only have two missiles, after all. I don’t think they’ll waste them on an unidentified truck.”

Amazed, Sinclair looked at Laura. “Only two missiles?”

She smoothed her hair back. “You’ll be much too busy to worry about them.”

Genda gestured to one of her bodyguards, who then banged on the back of the armored truck. The rear door of the Stryker opened to reveal a half dozen military personnel in combat uniform. “They’re all Special Forces. I’m told they’re very good.” She glanced down at her phone. “Oh, the F-16s are turning. With any luck, they’ll take out the Blackhawk on their first pass. You’d best get going. Let these boys do their jobs.”

They startled at a barrage of gunfire from the park across the street. A line of Legacy fighters was pushing toward them. Bullets whistled through the air, ricocheting off the front of the Guildhouse. Genda peered around the side of the Stryker. “Oh, damn, we’ve cut it too close. Keep your cell phone on so I can update you as necessary.” She backpedaled away from the truck. “Good luck! By the way, cute boots, Mariel. You’ll have to tell me where you got them when you get back. Okay, boys, time to get inside.”

Her bodyguards fired back up the street as Genda trotted behind them back around the corner. Laura jumped into the Stryker as Sinclair helped Whiting in behind her. The truck pulled out as Sinclair closed the door and moved to the front of the vehicle. He sat and looked at Laura. “Is that woman crazy?”

Laura smirked. “A little, but very efficient. Do you think you can deactivate the pod, Mr. Whiting?”

He shifted on his cramped perch. “That’s the one thing I’m sure of. I built in a shutdown.”

“Convenient,” said Sinclair.

Puzzled, Whiting cocked his head. “No, it isn’t. I’m a scientist. The pod is too experimental not to have a built-in fail-safe. That would be a foolish risk.”

Sinclair grinned. “As opposed to, say, getting hit with a hellfire missile.”

“What do you need me to do, Professor?” Laura asked.

“I’ll need you to talk to her, persuade her that everything is all right. She’s going to be very afraid. Once she’s calm, I’ll put her into a sleep trance, and this will be over,” he said.

Laura leaned forward. “I’m not going into a fire zone unarmed. I’d like a weapon, please.”

“Make that two,” said Sinclair.

A soldier handed two rifles down the line. “We were told you were cleared for these.”

Sinclair whistled as he took one. The rifle weighed almost eight pounds, with an infrared scope mounted on the top rail. “An Mk-16? Can I keep it?”

“No,” Laura said. She pocketed an extra magazine of ammunition. She didn’t like guns. Guns were meant to produce blood at a minimum, death as a matter of course. She almost never carried one, but under the circumstances, she knew it would be foolish not to. Without being able to tap essence, she was limited to her body’s own reserves, and once that was gone, it was gone.

An explosion rocked the truck. Tense silence swept through the back of the truck as everyone became quiet. Two soldiers returned fire through the top port. The longer they drove, the more the Stryker rang with the bullet impacts. Nothing pierced the armoring, but that didn’t lower anyone’s anxiety. They bounced as the Stryker jumped a curb, then skidded on a soft surface. They had arrived on the Mall.

Another explosion jolted the truck, and it lurched to a stop. The six soldiers around them readied to disembark. The vehicle commander ordered a smoke grenade launched. Someone hit the rear door, and the soldiers jumped out with their weapons primed. Laura slid to the rear, the air filled with gunfire and smoke. They were a lot closer than she had imagined they’d be, barely fifty yards away. She craned her neck out, but the smoke limited her field of vision. Somewhere above, she heard the rotor-blade whir of the Blackhawk.

Soldiers lay on the ground nearby, firing at the main entrance to the Monument. Theirs wasn’t the only team. She hadn’t expected that, but now she realized taking the Monument with six men wasn’t a likely scenario. People ran back and forth through the smoke. Screams reached her ears as the sound of gunfire dissipated.

“We’re inside. Still meeting resistance,” the vehicle commander called out.

“Why aren’t we out there?” Sinclair asked.

Laura kept her eyes on the entrance. “We’re here to protect Whiting and get Cress. It’s not a war-game exercise.”

Sinclair squeezed in next to her to see out. “Yeah, except I’m trained for this.”

She glanced at him, impatient. “Good. You can mop up anything these guys miss. Now, pay attention.”

“We’ve got a go. Make it fast,” the commander shouted.

Laura popped the door. She and Sinclair hit the ground together and helped Whiting. Aircraft filled the sky, fighter jets and helicopters circling in the distance. A wall of helicopters hung in front of the White House. A staccato burst of gunfire flared across the Ellipse in front of the mansion.

Above, the smoke curled away to reveal the deep black underbelly of a Blackhawk. The helicopter veered to one side and turned. Another smoke grenade launched from the Stryker. “Get moving! We have incoming,” the vehicle commander shouted.

They scrambled down the sidewalk, dodging among debris and bodies. A sense of nothingness shimmered over them, a wave in the air with no essence, but they stumbled on. The Monument burned with neon purple light, Cress’s body signature permeating the white stone surface. Near the peak, a rainbow slurry of essence revolved as the giant obelisk sucked it in.

A soldier appeared at the main entrance and waved them in. “We’ve found no one that matches the description of Adam DeWinter,” he said.

Laura surveyed the lobby; chipped masonry and dead bodies were scattered about the floor. “DeWinter’s not here. There’s no way out. He isn’t the suicidal type.”

“Ma’am, I believe what you are looking for is back here,” said the soldier. He led them across the damaged space to the elevators. In a narrow alcove to one side, two long rods of white crystal stretched from one wall to the other. Resting on top, a dark gray lozenge-shaped tube of quartz burned with a deep violet essence.

“Ah, now I see what they wanted those rods for,” Whiting said.

They spread out in a loose arc at the foot of the pod. “What do they do?” Sinclair asked.

Whiting grimaced as he ran his hand over one. “They’re conduits, tapping into the granite of the structure. It’s how Cress is accessing the essence in the Monument stones.”

“Can we disconnect them?” Laura asked.

He leaned over the head of the pod. “They’re not important now. Getting Cress out of here is.”

Outside the main doors, an explosion lit the night sky, followed by the roar of tearing metal. Another explosion erupted, a blinding orange light flashing into the lobby. Laura’s cell phone chirped. She found a text message from Genda signed with a smiley face. “They took out the Blackhawk.”

Whiting stepped over one of the support rods and leaned over the pod. The air throbbed against Laura’s face. Blood pounded in her ears. Until it was missing, she had never noticed how much ambient essence kept her energized. “Why isn’t the pod draining our body signatures?”

Whiting crouched to examine the underside of the pod. “The system is designed to facilitate and amplify Cress’s abilities. It absorbs local essence but needs to be in direct contact with body signatures to absorb those.”

“So we’re safe as long as we don’t touch that thing?” Sinclair asked.

Whiting hummed to himself. “Yes. Unfortunately, we need to touch it to stop it.” He tapped at a strip of red stone embedded on the top of the pod and grimaced. “This is the control ward. It’s not responding. Too much interference from the selenite in the pod itself, I think.”

Laura stepped over one of the support rods. “What are you saying? You can’t stop it?”

Without touching it, Whiting pointed to the red stone. “This ward stone is suppressing Cress’s consciousness. It allows DeWinter to direct her abilities and control his fighters. I keyed a deactivation response to my body signature, but the selenite is draining it off before it can penetrate.”

Sinclair lifted his rifle and brought the butt down hard on the red stone. A piece chipped off. He hit it again. A crack formed. He hit it again. And again, until the impact broke the ward crosswise. Whiting grunted in approval. “That works, too.”

Whiting pulled out the stone fragments. “The locks should release now. Pull up on the clamps on your side there.”

He stooped and yanked at two large stone levers while Laura and Sinclair opened the others. “Now what?” Laura asked.

“The lid’s heavy,” Whiting said. “I used essence to lower it into place, but now that it’s activated, it will drain us the moment we touch the pod. We need to lever it open as quickly as possible.”

“You guys are the brains of the operation. I’ll do it,” said Sinclair. Bracing one foot against the wall, he dug his fingers into the channeled seam that encircled the pod. With a shout, he heaved upward, throwing himself against the opposite wall. The lid pivoted, missing Laura and Whiting by inches. Pale, Sinclair slid to the floor.

Laura rushed to his side, and he smiled up at her. “And before you ask, no, that wasn’t an ability. I’m just freaking strong.”

Laura didn’t answer as she scanned his body signature. His medallion interfered, but as far as she could determine, his contact had been brief enough to cause only a minor dip in his essence levels.

She straightened and froze as she saw inside the pod. Cress lay on her back, unconscious, her body twisted in pain. In the short time she had been missing, every bit of fat had been leeched away beneath her skin. Her head was tilted back, cheekbones prominent, mouth agape as if she were crying out. Her whiteless eyes, though, bulged in their sockets and burned with a dark light.

“Dear Danu . . .” Laura whispered. On impulse, she touched Cress’s cheek. Thick violet tendrils of light slithered out of the leanansidhe’s skin and wrapped around Laura’s hand, sucking at her body essence. With a startled cry, Laura yanked her hand back, rubbing the skin.

The Monument trembled around them, cracks snaking up the walls.

“I don’t think this place is taking the stress,” said Sinclair.

Whiting peered into the pod. “She’s trapped in a fugue state. Until she regains consciousness, the pod will keep draining essence into the Monument.”

“Will it help if we pull her out?” asked Laura.

Whiting scratched at the side of his head. “It should. The warding on the Monument will be disrupted, but I don’t know if that will be enough. We’re actually inside a stone ward now. Cress might not need to be in the pod anymore for the draining to continue. “

Laura clutched Sinclair’s arm as another tremor rocked the building. “Well, let’s drag her out of here.”

Whiting shook his head. “We won’t make the front door with her. Cress herself will keep draining essence until she awakens and stops.”

Laura narrowed her eyes in thought. “Then we’ll relay her out. Whiting, you get her as far as you can into the lobby. Jono will take her from there, and if he can’t make it out the door, I’ll finish the final leg.”

“He’s not fey,” Whiting said. “He won’t last more than a few moments against her.”

Laura made sly eye contact with Sinclair. “He’s full of surprises.”

Another tremor sent masonry falling from the ceiling. “I don’t think we have a choice, folks,” said Sinclair. “Let’s do this and get out of here.”

Whiting activated his body shield and reached into the pod. He pulled Cress by her arms and over the lip of the pod. His shield dimmed as he struggled with her, then faded entirely.

“Faster, Whiting,” Laura said.

She watched his body signature fade next. With a last burst of energy, Whiting wrapped his arm around Cress’s waist and collapsed, using his weight to take her to the floor. Sinclair darted in and dragged him away from Cress. “He’s not dead, but he didn’t last long. I don’t think this is going to work.”

Laura crouched beside Cress. “He was already drained once tonight, Jono. I think we’ll last longer. Hand her off to me before she knocks you out.”

She met his eyes. “Ready?”

“Ready,” he said.

With a deep breath, he hauled Cress off the floor and onto his shoulder. The contact staggered him backward as deep purple tendrils lashed into his body signature. He recovered his balance and charged for the door. His body essence wavered halfway across the lobby. Thicker ropes of essence slithered out of Cress and tangled into his body essence. He fought against the intrusion, forcing himself forward.

Wake up, Cress, Laura sent. The sending shredded in her mind.

Sinclair stumbled, his legs weak beneath him. He wasn’t going to make the doors. He pushed forward, his strength slipping away like a receding tide. He pressed on, determined to cover more distance, struggling to within a few feet of the entrance.

“Take her!” he gasped.

He slipped to his knees as he draped the weight of Cress’s body over Laura’s shoulder. With more essence pouring into Cress from the Monument, purple tendrils of light wound around Laura’s body shield as she pressed through the door. Dazed and nauseated, she staggered across the pavement outside. The landscape spun as she fell forward. Cress rolled away from her. Someone helped Laura stand, but she couldn’t stay upright.

“I need earth beneath me.”

She was dragged out into the hot night air and eased to the ground.