Wired

PART SIX Moriarty

They parked at the outskirts of Kira’s trailer park and made their way silently to her class A motor home. It was nearing three in the morning, and the other residents of the park were sound asleep and didn’t stir at their arrival. Kira had taken care to select a park at which there was ample spacing between RVs.

Kira’s RV was forty feet long and eight wide. The drapes were already closed and she kept the lighting low. Despite the limited space, Kira had decorated the dwelling tastefully with several well-placed knickknacks and plants that gave it a homey and unmistakably feminine feel. The RV was packed with cherry cabinetry and had a self-contained bathroom, kitchen, dining area, living room, and bedroom. Desh had never been inside an RV of any kind and marveled at how much could be fit inside, and how cleverly. The kitchen had an oven, a three-burner stove, and a microwave, along with a large stainless steel refrigerator-freezer. There were two tan leather couches along either wall, facing each other, with about four feet of space between them. A high-end computer rested underneath the small kitchen table with a full-sized keyboard and three monitors on its surface. Desh couldn’t imagine wanting or needing more than a single monitor, but after the last few days he was beginning to think this was a minority opinion.

Kira gestured for Connelly to take one of the two couches and for Griffin and Metzger to take the other. The driver and passenger seats were cushioned, soft-leather captain’s chairs, capable of being swiveled around 180 degrees to become additional living room furniture; a configuration Kira used whenever the vehicle was parked. She sat in one and motioned for Desh to take the other. The only hint that the group was gathered inside a mammoth vehicle rather than a tiny house was the presence of a large steering wheel protruding into the living room.

“We need to brief you and we need to do it quickly,” began Desh as soon as he was seated. “There’s a lot to tell, so let’s get right to it.”

For over an hour, Desh and Kira reviewed everything they knew: intelligence enhancement, Kira’s longevity therapy, her self-imposed memory blockade, the murder of her brother, the Ebola frame, and finally, their recent interaction with the ruthless man they had called Moriarty. They did their best to impart the information succinctly, but understood the importance of being thorough. The team had to know the entire truth; no matter how much valuable time was consumed in the process. Desh observed the major carefully throughout the briefing, finding him to be intelligent, inquisitive, and a positive addition to the team.

It was Desh’s passionate description of the awesome power of an enhanced intellect that persuaded the three men to believe the rest, as utterly fantastic as it all was. If the level of intelligence that could be attained was truly as phenomenal as Desh described, they readily agreed that age retardation could be achieved after a number of sessions in this altered state, and that a hyper-infective virus targeting egg cells could be perfected as well.

Thirty minutes into their briefing, Kira had brewed up a pot of coffee and provided a cup to each member of the team, who were unanimous in expressing their gratitude for the caffeine.

Finally, at just after four in the morning, the briefing was complete.

Metzger leaned forward on the couch, so he could see around the now clean-shaven giant seated beside him, and glanced worriedly at the bandage-covered bald spot on the side of Kira’s skull. “I hate to bring this up,” he said, “but the explosive is set to go off in only six hours.”

Kira nodded, but remained silent.

“Is something like this really possible?” asked Griffin, directing his question to Connelly who was across from him in the compact living room.

The colonel sighed. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “C-4 is the explosive everyone knows about, but the military has developed plastic explosives even more potent than this. Shape the charge correctly and it wouldn’t take much. Easy to booby-trap a device so it can’t be removed.”

“Jesus,” said Griffin in revulsion. “I am so sorry, Kira,” he added gently. “This Sam is truly a monster.”

Kira attempted a half-hearted smile. “I appreciate the concern, Matt, but I’ll be okay. Remember, he didn’t implant the device to kill me. He did so as an insurance policy: to make sure I don’t kill him. If he dies, I die. In the meanwhile, he’ll continue to reset it. He needs me alive to get his hands on the fountain of youth. He’ll expect me to try to stop him for a few days, get nowhere, and then let myself be recaptured: giving him my secret rather than letting him carry out his plan.”

Griffin nodded, but the frown didn’t leave his face.

Metzger pursed his lips in concentration. “Kira,” he said, “you told him you couldn’t give him the secret to your longevity therapy, or the location of the flash drive, even if you desperately wanted to. Is that true, or partially a bluff?”

“Unfortunately, it’s absolutely true,” replied Kira with a troubled look on her face. “He knows firsthand that with the extraordinary capabilities enhancement gives you, manipulating memory in this way is possible. Despite this, he thinks with proper motivation I’ll find a way. But he’s wrong about that.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said the major. “It means that negotiating a stop to the threat isn’t even an option.” He frowned. “What if his plan succeeds? Is he right? Would you then publically disclose your longevity treatment?”

Kira sighed. “I would,” she replied. “The bastard is right. At that point there would be no reason not to. Humanity’s only hope would be to achieve true immortality, or figure out how to coax the production of new egg cells. Enhanced molecular biologists might eventually discover a way to do this, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

Metzger frowned deeply. “If we want to have any chance of stopping this threat,” he said, “I’d suggest that our first order of business is learning who this Sam really is.”

“Agreed,” said Desh.

“Do we have anything to go on?” asked Griffin.

Desh raised his eyebrows. “Actually, yes,” he said confidently. “I think we do.”

All eyes were instantly upon David Desh, including Kira’s. He hadn’t yet shared his theory even with her.

“First, it’s almost certain Sam is in the government,” began Desh. “We know he has considerable legitimate authority. Not to mention access to next generation military helicopters and to safe houses. Second, he kept boasting of the men he had in his pocket, be they molecular biologists or military muscle. He apparently has dirt on a large and diverse cast of characters.” Desh leaned forward intently. “So how would someone be able to get that much dirt on that many people?” He turned his gaze to Connelly and raised his eyebrows. “Remind you of anybody, Colonel?”

Connelly thought for a moment and his eyes widened as he realized where Desh was headed. “J. Edgar Hoover,” he whispered.

“J. Edgar Hoover,” repeated Desh, nodding. “Head of the FBI for forty-nine years under eight different presidents. Rumored to have used the power of the FBI to wiretap and spy on citizens of personal interest to him. Kept secret files on his enemies containing compromising or embarrassing information. Nobody could be sure what he had on them. Rumor has it that several presidents called him in, intent on firing him, but he left unscathed each time.”

“Many believe he was the most powerful man in the history of the US, including presidents,” pointed out Connelly.

“Exactly,” said Desh excitedly. “I think Sam is taking a page out of Hoover’s playbook, trying for the same results. And my guess is he’s well on his way. He claims to be blackmailing numerous men. He has also demonstrated considerable power to move men and equipment like so many chess pieces, not to mention arranging to have the colonel provide me with Smith’s telephone number as my contact. Since Hoover’s time, Congress has added more stringent safeguards against domestic surveillance, of course—” He raised his eyebrows doubtfully.

“But this wouldn’t hinder him in the least,” said Kira, completing Desh’s sentence. “Enhanced, he can circumvent any safeguards. And the word ruthless is completely inadequate to describe him. Here’s a man who was a psychopath before he was enhanced. A man who bragged about burning my brother alive.”

Desh nodded gravely.

“So you think Sam’s with the FBI?” asked Metzger.

Desh shook his head. “No. The FBI isn’t the best agency to carry out this strategy any longer. A modern day Hoover would choose differently.”

Griffin’s eyes widened. “The NSA,” he whispered.

“Exactly.”

“We better hope you’re wrong,” said Griffin anxiously, “because if you’re not, then this just became even a bigger nightmare. The NSA makes Big Brother look like the ACLU. They’re the largest intelligence gathering organization in the world, which also makes them the most powerful agency in the world. They’re in charge of cryptology for the US, which puts them in charge of signal’s intelligence: radio, microwave, fiber-optic, cell phones, satellites—everything.”

“Your certainly know your NSA, Matt,” said Desh, standing and pouring himself another cup of coffee. “They’ve been involved in this from the beginning,” he continued. “In some capacity.” He shifted his eyes to Kira. “Someone had to order satellites to track you, Kira. But that didn’t necessarily mean our Moriarty—or Sam if you will—worked there. Given everyone was convinced you were behind the Ebola threat, the NSA would have been called in regardless.”

“But if he did work there, that would explain a lot,” said Metzger. “The NSA sends daily intelligence reports to numerous agencies—and even to the White House on occasion. If this Sam was operating from within the NSA he could readily spread false intelligence. He could spread misinformation about Kira that would be accepted as fact. And he put together a tight frame of the colonel in record time. I’ve known Jim Connelly forever, and I know that nothing could ever get him to betray his country. Yet the evidence they put together against him almost had me convinced.”

“The more you think about it,” said Desh, “the more sense it makes. The NSA would be the ideal place for Sam to reinvent Hoover’s strategy, using capabilities that Hoover could only dream of. The combination of being able to doctor intelligence reports and eavesdrop on whoever he wanted to at the highest levels of government—and blackmail them—would make him the ultimate puppet master.”

“He’d be high up in the organization,” said Kira. “But not the Director. Not enough anonymity that way.”

Metzger pursed his lips. “It feels right,” he said, his bushy eyebrows almost touching as he wrinkled his forehead in thought. “But how much does this help us? Even if we knew this were true, could we find him?”

“David and I know what he looks like now,” said Kira.

“Yeah, but they don’t just advertise employees of the NSA in an online directory with pictures and addresses,” said Connelly.

“How many employees do they have?” asked Kira.

Griffin smiled. “It’s classified,” he said. “So is their budget. Their headquarters is at Fort Meade, Maryland, just outside D.C. I read online that someone counted 18,000 parking spaces there. The Post published an article a few years back estimating the total number at all their facilities around the world at close to 40,000. Their security is legendary,” he added grimly.

“How do you happen to know so much about them, Matt?” asked Connelly curiously.

“Are you kidding,” replied Griffin, grinning. “The NSA is to conspiracy theorists and hackers what Area 51 is to UFO freaks. Massive, powerful, shadowy. Not to mention that they have a supercomputer center with the largest accumulation of computer power ever housed on Earth.”

Desh smiled mischievously. “Ever hack into it?”

“Absolutely not!” said Griffin, looking shocked. “It’s the third rail of the hacking world. First, they have the best security on the planet. Impenetrable as far as I know. Second, if you did make it in, they would find out, and they’d come after you—with a vengeance.”

Desh looked amused. “If it makes you feel any better, they’re already coming after you with a vengeance,” he pointed out. “Surely simple employee records and photographs don’t warrant the NSA’s maximum protection.”

“Maybe not,” allowed Griffin. “But even their minimum protection is pretty unbeatable.”

“You’re the only chance we have,” said Kira gently. “Can you do it?”

Griffin sighed. “Maybe, given three or four days, I could get employee records. Maybe. But we don’t have time for that.” He shook his head helplessly. “Kira is as good a hacker as I am, so together we might be able to do it faster.” He frowned. “But still not fast enough to stop this Sam character from unleashing his engineered virus.”

Kira shook her head. “I’m only as good as you when my intelligence has been enhanced. Otherwise, you’re orders of magnitude more accomplished than I am.”

“What about enhancing Matt, then?” suggested the colonel. “If this mental transformation is all it’s cracked up to be, with his vast base of knowledge, he should be able to beat even the NSA.” Connelly pulled a pain-relief capsule from his pocket, placed it on his tongue, and washed it down with some now lukewarm coffee.

Desh sighed. “I have no doubt that he could.” He eyed Kira warily. “But I don’t know if we want to take that chance right now.”

“You’re that worried about the side effects of this pill?” said Connelly.

“I’ve compared notes with Kira,” replied Desh, “and the sociopathy effect hit me harder and faster than it hit her.”

Metzger stroked his chin once again. He turned to Kira. “Do you think it hit David harder because there was testosterone added to the mix?” he asked.

Kira considered. “An interesting hypothesis,” she said. “But I don’t know.”

“It’s possible Matt won’t display any antisocial tendencies the first time,” said Desh. “Kira tells me her therapy didn’t affect her that way to any major degree until she had been transformed a number of times.” He frowned. “But we can’t rule out the possibility the effect will hit him even harder than it did me. That would be dangerous for everyone.”

“How hard did it really hit you?” asked Metzger. “It didn’t sound to me as though you had turned into a total monster.”

“Not a total one, no,” said Desh. “But reflecting now on some of the thoughts I had in this state scares me. I still had some loyalty to Kira and humanity—which is why I helped her escape. But the effect on me was to the right of Kira. What if the effect on Matt is to the right of me?” There was no mistaking the worried look on his face. “Eventually, all of you need to experience the effect, but under far more secure and controlled conditions.”

Kira sighed. “You know that I agree with you, David,” she said. “But there’s too much at stake not to risk this. And it would only be his first time.” She paused and then smiled sheepishly. “While we’re having this discussion, we should probably ask Matt if he’s even willing to do this,” she added.

All eyes turned toward Griffin.

“Well?” said Kira.

Griffin nodded. Then, smiling, he turned to Desh and winked. “I guess this is my chance to become even more prodigious,” he said wryly.

The smile vanished from Griffin’s face as he realized that Desh’s dour expression hadn’t changed. “I understand your concerns, David,” he said. “If it will make you feel any better, you can tie my legs together.”

“Oh, I plan on doing far more than that,” said Desh.

“Okay,” said Griffin, slightly taken aback. “That’s fine. But even if I turned into the devil, what do you think an overweight, out of shape computer expert could do against three highly trained members of the US military?”

A troubled look came over Desh’s face. “Far more than you might imagine,” he said worriedly.

Kira Miller retreated to her bedroom at the back of the RV. She turned to Desh before she entered and said, “The gellcaps are in a secure spot. I’ll need about five minutes with a screwdriver to get at them.”

Desh nodded as she disappeared behind the curtain that separated the bedroom from the rest of the vehicle. “Let’s get you ready, Matt,” he said. He gestured for the hacker to take a seat at the kitchen table in front of Kira’s keyboard and monitors.

Once he was seated, Desh and Metzger wasted no time roping him securely to the chair. They bound his ankles with both metal and plastic handcuffs and taped his calves to the chair’s two front legs with a stronger version of duct tape.

They had just finished when Kira emerged with a small stainless steel canister and handed it to Desh. He removed a single pill and gave it to Griffin while Kira took a small glass from a cabinet and filled it with tap water. Griffin took the water from Kira and downed the pill without ceremony.

“When will this take effect?” he asked.

“In about five minutes,” replied Kira.

Desh pulled an MP-5 from the canvas bag and handed it to Metzger. “Take a position in Kira’s bedroom as far from Matt as you can get,” he said, “and cover him.”

Metzger did as instructed, opening the curtain to have a clear view of the entire vehicle, while Desh stacked both canvas bags on the floor in front of the passenger seat and pulled an MP-5 for himself. “Colonel, you’re with me.”

Desh turned the passenger seat around so it faced the road again and knelt on it, extending his head above the high seatback with the machine pistol protruding over it. He insisted that Connelly sit normally in the comfortable driver’s seat, unarmed. The colonel argued that he could carry his own weight and help cover Griffin, but Desh wouldn’t hear of it, reminding him that a rifle shot had recently torn a hole through his shoulder, mere inches away from his heart. “Save your strength, Colonel,” Desh told him. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

Reluctantly, Connelly took the seat as requested.

“Kira, I want you in the bedroom, safely behind the major,” said Desh.

Kira opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. She had been in charge, and alone, for far too long. The reason she had wanted to team up with Desh in the first place was to get help. With a slight smile she realized she should let herself enjoy not making all the decisions for a change. She walked to the back of the RV and for once played the role of the damsel, taking a position behind and to the left of the war-hardened major.

“Major,” Desh called out.

Metzger caught his eye from thirty feet away.

“If he shows any suspicious behavior whatsoever, shoot him in the leg immediately. No hesitation. Don’t forget that he’ll be much faster than we are, mentally and physically.”

Metzger nodded.

The group took consolation from the fact that in addition to being bound, Griffin was slow and untrained, so that even if the transformation tripled his speed they should be able to handle him. Should be. No one was in a hurry to test this theory.

Griffin began navigating the web so he would be poised at the entrance to the NSA’s system when the mental transformation took effect. He didn’t have to wait long. “Holy crap!” he yelled the instant it did. He continued speaking after this but at a rate too fast for the rest of the group to decipher.

Griffin turned back to the keyboard and his fingers flew over it like those of a possessed concert pianist, filling all three monitors with an ever-changing parade of menus, data, and web pages. He had worked too fast for most people to have any hope of following before he was enhanced, but now his speed was off the charts. He continued working at a dizzying pace for twenty minutes while Desh and Metzger kept their weapons carefully trained on him.

“Matt, how is it looking?” said Desh finally. “Can you do it?”

Griffin snapped an unintelligible response.

“We can’t understand you,” said Desh.

“Can’t-operate-at-your-pathetic-speed-so-leave-me-the-hell-alone,” blurted out Griffin harshly, having slowed just enough that Desh could separate the words.

“Divert a portion of your mind to act as a slow version of yourself,” instructed Desh. “Less frustrating speaking with normals that way.”

“Done,” said Griffin.

“How are you feeling?” asked Desh cautiously.

“Idiot question!” snapped Griffin immediately. “What you’re really asking is: have I turned into the devil? If not, I would tell you no. If so, I would lie and still tell you no. Moron!” he finished disdainfully.

It may have been a stupid question, Kira thought, but Griffin’s response had been illuminating nonetheless. “You realize—”

“That I was as pathetic and slow as you are a few minutes ago. Yes, I know.” The blistering pace of Griffin’s keyboard and mouse manipulations didn’t slow as he spoke nor did conversation seem to affect his ability to digest entire screens of information at a glance.

Desh caught Kira’s eye worriedly, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Griffin was also handling the transformation less well than had Kira. Less well, perhaps, even than Desh. So perhaps it was a testosterone effect after all.

The group let Griffin continue working in silence for the next fifteen minutes, not wanting to provoke the demon within. Kira finally decided it was time for a status report. “How is it coming, Matt?” she called from the other end of the vehicle.

Griffin’s hands hadn’t once stopped moving over the keyboard since he had begun. “Child’s play,” he said smugly. “I’ll be in NSA’s personnel database in about ten minutes.” He paused. “Meanwhile,” he announced with a superior air, “I’ve broken into the Federal Reserve and diverted 500 million dollars into your numbered Swiss bank account.”

Kira drew back, stunned.

“Relax,” snapped Griffin, correctly having predicted her reaction despite her being well out of his sight. “It’s a victimless crime. Just numbers in a computer. I didn’t steal anyone’s money, just created 500 million more. And yes, even though it’s a numbered and oh-so-secret Swiss account, I’m sure I put the funds in the correct one.”

“Why, Matt?” said Kira, concerned. “What prompted you to do that?”

“Sadly, I’m forced to live most of my life as a moron,” Griffin shot back. “I’ll soon return to my pathetic former self who will be joining this sanctimonious team of yours. The better capitalized we are, especially in the beginning before invention money pours in, the faster we can achieve our ultimate goals.”

The four other members of the group exchanged meaningful glances and raised eyebrows. Griffin had become ultra-arrogant, certainly, but in his own way he knew that the future of his lesser self was tied to the team, which was at least somewhat comforting.

“You have to reverse this transaction, Matt,” said Kira softly. “It’s not right.”

“Don’t preach to me!” barked Griffin. “Spare me your brainless and misguided moralizing. A sum this great will help our cause, and you know it.”

“But—”

“This discussion is over!” thundered Griffin.

Kira sighed deeply and decided not to push it further. The truth was that he was right. It was a victimless crime and would help them accomplish a greater good. She was certainly no stranger to these hard choices. She had broken the law to develop her treatment. She had killed Lusetti and she had injured several others to avoid capture. That night alone she had been involved in the theft of two cars and a misappropriation of a military helicopter.

But this was while she was her normal self. Those experiencing the mind altering effects of her treatment wielded too much power, and had too little conscience, to be allowed even the smallest step onto this slippery slope. The team would need to make sure that in the future those they enhanced had no ability to directly affect the outside world while still in the thrall of the transformation.

“I’m in,” announced Griffin. “Quickly, describe Sam.”

“Well,” began Desh, “His height is about—”

“Too slow,” barked Griffin. “I’ll find him without you.” There was the briefest of pauses and then, “This is him, correct?”

A headshot security photo of a man filled an entire screen. For the first time since Griffin had become transformed he left something on a monitor for more than a few seconds.

Desh’s eyes widened. “But—”

“How?” Griffin interrupted, anticipating Desh’s question once again. “Without hearing your description?” As he spoke, his fingers once again sped over the keyboard and Sam’s picture disappeared to be replaced by a screen of what looked like computer code. Once Griffin had learned from Desh’s reaction he had found the right person he continued to pursue other projects he had been working on in parallel. “I can access the log-in patterns of any employee. I know Sam’s locations over the past few days and the timing of some of his activities. From your story I know his approximate age and I can guess the precise level and position in the organization that would allow him to achieve all that he has. I narrowed it to five men. His name is S. Frank Putnam. The S stands for Samuel. He’s among the top twenty people in the NSA.”

Kira was speechless. He had done it! At long last, she knew the identity of the man who had killed her brother and turned her life into a nightmare. “Do you have—”

“Yes, of course,” snapped Griffin. “His address and more.”

“What are you doing now?” asked Desh, his weapon still trained on the hacker. Finally, Griffin’s slower-witted avatar had allowed someone to get out an entire question without being interrupted.

“Clearing Kira’s and the colonel’s good names,” he replied.

Given that Griffin appeared to have almost free rein of the cyber domain, Kira was encouraged that he continued to work toward helping the team. “But won’t—”

“That be a tip-off to S. Frank Putnam,” finished Griffin. “No. The records will remain as they are for twenty-four hours. Kira and Connelly will continue to be wanted fugitives.”

“And in twenty-four hours?” called out Kira from her post in the bedroom with extreme interest.

“The record will show that the accusations and evidence against Kira Miller were false, but that she was shot and killed before this was discovered. You’ll be off the grid for good, Kira. I’ll set up a new identity for you later. When I’m finished, you’ll be able to ride naked on a horse through Fort Bragg without attracting military attention.”

“I’d take money on that bet,” mused Desh, who then quickly winced as if he couldn’t believe he had said this out loud.

A smile came to Kira’s face, knowing this was meant as a compliment, but she didn’t respond. “And the colonel?” she asked Griffin.

“New evidence will emerge that he is completely innocent, with prior information to the contrary an attempt by an unnamed NSA employee with a personal vendetta to frame him.”

“And what will—”

“Enough!” thundered Griffin. “I’ve been more than patient.”

He continued his work with the computer unabated; as if unaware he had just made an outburst. Eight minutes later he gasped and looked as if his best friend had just died.

Desh caught Kira’s eye and nodded knowingly. “Welcome back, Matt,” he said.

“This well and truly sucks,” complained the giant.

“Give yourself a few minutes,” said Desh. “It won’t annoy you so much.”

“Do you think you could untie me?” asked Griffin.

Desh shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Not for ten minutes. I need to be sure this isn’t a ruse.”

Griffin didn’t look happy about this but didn’t argue. Having been transformed, he now was one of the few people who would know firsthand why Desh had been so cautious.

“Do you remember what happened?” asked Connelly.

“Good question,” said Griffin, tilting his head for several long seconds. “I remember what I accomplished,” he said finally. “I only have the vaguest idea how.” He held out his hands in wonder. “I was like a hotrodding God,” he said in awe. “What I was able to do in an hour, I couldn’t do normally if I was given a thousand years.”

Griffin continued to take inventory of the past hour and a guilty expression came over his face. “I was a bit of an asshole, wasn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say that at all,” said Desh. “You were a total asshole.” He grinned. “But don’t worry about it. Your work was phenomenal.”

Griffin turned to Kira and shook his head in wonder. “That’s quite a treatment you’ve got there,” he said admiringly. Still facing her, he let out a heavy sigh and the smile retreated from his face. “Got anything to eat?” he asked eagerly.

Matt Griffin quickly proceeded to devour four bagels and then started in on a large bag of corn chips Kira had given him. Desh released the giant from his bonds while crumbs rained onto his head at a steady pace.

Once Griffin had been restored to full freedom, the entire group gathered around him as best they could in the tight space. “My superhuman alter ego may not win any Miss Congeniality awards,” he said, “but he sure was a God of the cyber domain. Allow me to demonstrate.” Griffin hit a few keys and a satellite photo came up on one of the monitors. It showed a central residence and two small, red barns, contained within the expansive grounds. The house was nestled among several mature trees. About thirty yards from the house a number of tiny horses could be identified milling about inside a fenced-in area about the size of a football field.

“This is the Sam Putnam residence,” explained Griffin.

“He lives on a farm?” said Kira in surprise.

“A small one,” said Griffin. “And he doesn’t actually farm anything. But he does have eight horses and two barns.”

“A perfect layout for him,” noted Desh. “It lets him be isolated from near neighbors without seeming to be a recluse. He’s just a rugged outdoorsman. And while the farm must have been expensive, it isn’t showy enough to make anyone wonder how he could afford it.”

“And the isolation leaves open numerous options for security,” added Metzger.

“Where is it?” asked Kira.

Griffin worked the mouse and zoomed out, showing the scene from a far higher altitude. Putnam’s farm disappeared. As if by magic, a map with borders and place names was overlaid onto the satellite image. Griffin pointed at the center of the screen. “Putnam lives here,” he said. “In Severn Maryland.”

The town was directly between Washington to the southwest and Baltimore to the northeast. It was at most fifteen minutes away from NSA headquarters at Fort Meade.

While the group studied the map, Griffin pulled up a page of information about the town and left it on the adjacent monitor. Severn had been a small rural town for most of its existence, but in the past several decades it had seen explosive growth given its proximity to D.C. and Baltimore and the growth of the government, including the NSA. While much of the town was originally zoned as rural farmland, the vast majority of land had now be rezoned for residential purposes. Putnam owned one of the few remaining properties that could be designated as a farm.

Griffin changed the view of Putnam’s property, zooming in to give the view from about a hundred feet overhead. “He has enough video cameras blanketing the property that there are virtually no blind spots. They all feed into two separate banks of monitors, one bank inside his bedroom and the other,” he said, pointing to the barn that was the farthest from the residence, “inside here.”

Griffin moved the view a few hundred yards from the residence and zoomed in until a relatively unassuming fence came into view. “This is a chain-link fence, ten feet high, completely encircling the periphery of the property,” he announced. “It looks innocent enough—almost inviting. No razor wire, no electricity. But don’t be fooled. It has vibration sensors. Try to climb over it or cut through it and your exact location is revealed.”

Griffin showed a closer view of the main dwelling. “There’s a microwave perimeter exactly twenty feet out from the house. Break the beam and once again Putnam will know about it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Presupposing you could get over the first fence without any alarms going off, and he didn’t see you on the monitors.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Metzger.

“He has a very advanced system,” explained Griffin. “He has a computer devoted just to home security, and this is tied into the Internet. That way, anyone with the proper codes can check all of the video feeds and security monitors from any computer.”

“And you hacked into this computer?” said Kira.

“Yes. And reprogrammed it while I was inside,” said Griffin proudly. “For the next twenty-four hours the system will ignore certain inputs. Cut through the fence and break the microwave barrier and the system won’t notice. The video monitors are set to show the same benign view of the estate on a continual basis.”

Desh scratched his head. “It doesn’t make sense to have a security system online that’s vulnerable to what you just did,” he said.

“I agree,” said Griffin. “But it isn’t vulnerable. A top-drawer hacker could hack into the system and identify what security safeguards are in place. But anyone skilled at storming this kind of heavily protected castle could do that in other ways. But reprogramming it the way I did simply isn’t possible with normal human faculties. Trust me on this one.”

“Did you get anything useful from his personal computer?” asked Kira eagerly. “Anything that might give us a lead to the sterilization plot?”

Griffin frowned. “No. He didn’t have any computers online during the time I was altered. I suspect he only allows an online connection to be active when he’s using it, and then physically disrupts the connection when he isn’t.”

This was a bad break, thought Desh. But all things considered, Griffin had accomplished more than Desh could ever have hoped for.

“Let’s get back to Putnam’s security,” said Desh. “Are you telling us that we can just waltz in there undetected for the next twenty-four hours?”

“Almost,” said Griffin. He worked the mouse and different views of Putnam’s property came into view, one of which showed a tiny human figure. He zoomed in closer and a man came into focus wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a cowboy hat. He was putting out hay for the horses. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, which meant the footage Griffin had tapped into was probably several months out of date.

“Security information from the monitors and alarms is fed to two men,” said Griffin as he zoomed in tight on the man’s waist, revealing an automatic weapon and walkie-talkie. “He’s one of them.”

“Interesting,” said Metzger. “This guy’s cowboyed up so most people will take him as a farmhand.”

“He doubles as a farmhand from the look of it,” commented Connelly.

“You said two men,” said Desh. “Where is the other one?”

“The security computer logs indicate that one of the men is almost always in the barn, manning the monitors.”

“Won’t the guard in the barn realize something is wrong when his colleague fails to show up on the monitors?” asked Desh.

Griffin grinned broadly. “When Kira makes you smart, she makes you prodigiously smart,” he said happily. “I took this into account. I only altered the outer cameras, focusing on the chain-link fence and the grounds beyond the outer barn. He’ll be able to see his friend, all right,” he said happily. “But not anyone sneaking up on him from the outer perimeter.”

Desh nodded approvingly. “Anything else we should know?” he asked.

Griffin considered. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “An alarm would normally go off if the house was breached in any way, but my modifications won’t allow this to happen.” He eyed Desh. “Unfortunately, I can’t program these two guys to ignore you,” he said.

Desh didn’t appear concerned about this in the least. “You’ve done great, Matt,” he said warmly. “With no alarms or video of our approach, they shouldn’t be much trouble.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked the major.

All eyes turned to Desh. Even though he was no longer in the military—and even if he was both Connelly and Metzger would have outranked him—everyone knew this was his show.

“I don’t think confronting Putnam right now buys us much,” began Desh. “Capture, followed by torture, might be an option at some point, but I wouldn’t suggest it as a first move.” He paused. “Comments? Disagreements?”

There was silence for several long moments, but no one objected.

“When do you think capturing Putnam would be the right move?” asked Connelly.

“When we’ve tried all other avenues,” said Desh. “As a last resort. And just after he’s reset Kira’s implant.” He paused. “Putnam’s probably been conditioned to withstand truth drugs. But given twelve hours we might be able to persuade him, in ways he wouldn’t find pleasant, to stop his viral attack and give us the code to disarm the device in Kira’s head.”

“But then again, we might not,” noted Metzger.

“Right,” said Desh. “That’s why we should try other approaches first.”

“I assume we start with his house,” said Metzger.

Desh nodded. “It’d be a shame not to after super-Matt here went to all the trouble to make it easy for us. I propose we wait for Putnam to leave for work and then break in. That will probably give us a good eight hours to search his house, and for Matt to have quality time with his computer. The goals will be twofold: one, learn anything we can about Putnam’s connection to terrorists and how to stop his plan from succeeding. Two, try to find out anything we can about the device in Kira’s skull and how to disarm it.”

Desh surveyed the group, looking each member of the team firmly in the eye. Each nodded in turn.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Kira supportively.

Desh looked at his watch. He was exhausted, as they all were, but they wouldn’t have the luxury of rest for a long time yet. A stanza from a favorite Robert Frost poem drifted across his consciousness:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Desh sighed and turned toward Griffin. Time to figure out just how many additional miles were in their immediate futures. “Matt, can you pull up directions to Severn and get a distance.”

Griffin’s fingers flew over the keyboard and fifteen seconds later a map was on the monitor with the driving path outlined by a bold line. “Seventy-five miles,” he announced.

Desh locked his eyes onto Kira. “Kira, we need to get moving. Can you disconnect us from the trailer park cable and gas lines, and do whatever else needs to be done for us to hit the road.”

Kira nodded. “We’ll be ready to roll in five minutes,” she said.

It was already a quarter to eight before Kira’s forty-foot behemoth pulled off onto an old dirt road a few hundred yards from the outer perimeter of Putnam’s property. Desh and Metzger jumped out of the vehicle immediately and fanned out in opposite directions, each carrying a pair of green binoculars, rubberized for shock resistance. During the trip each had donned assault vests and were armed to the teeth. The entire team now wore walkie-talkie earpieces with wires that disappeared beneath their shirts. Kira, who had taught herself how to handle a weapon, was armed with a familiar Glock 9-millimeter pistol while Griffin, given his complete lack of experience, remained unarmed.

Desh and Metzger had only been in place for a few minutes when a large black Cadillac pulled onto the road nearest to Putnam’s spread. The car’s windows weren’t tinted, probably once again to prevent any raised eyebrows in the neighborhood, but Desh knew a heavily armored car when he saw one and this one was armored to the gills—more tank than car.

Desh carefully turned a dial on the binoculars and focused in on the driver. Bingo! It was Sam. Samuel Frank Putnam in the flesh. They had been lucky. If they had arrived even five minutes later they would have missed his departure.

Within minutes the car was out of sight, heading in the opposite direction from where they were stationed, toward Fort Meade. Desh signaled to Metzger and they both returned to Kira’s motor home.

“Showtime,” announced Desh to the group. He handed Metzger and Griffin a gellcap from the stainless steel bottle Kira had given him. “Put these in your pockets,” he instructed. “Use them only in an absolute emergency.” He held the pill bottle out to Kira. “Kira?” he said.

She shook her head. “No thanks,” she said with a sigh. “Just kicked the habit.”

Desh and Metzger strapped rucksacks on their backs that had been stuffed full of gear during the drive to Putnam’s farm.

The colonel had gotten another hour of concentrated sleep while they drove, but was now fully awake. Desh had insisted that he stay behind to man the RV and to guard their flank.

Desh turned to the major, who was waiting for him. “Go with Matt and Kira and take up a concealed position just outside the chain-link fence,” he instructed. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Metzger looked puzzled but didn’t question Desh’s order. He took a last glance at Desh and Connelly and exited the vehicle with the two civilians in tow. They arrived at the outer perimeter of the property and waited behind a group of trees for Desh to join them. Five minutes later he arrived.

“What was that all about?” Kira whispered to Desh.

“I needed to be sure the colonel was all right,” he whispered back, “and to bury the pill canister away from the RV. Just in case.”

Desh pulled a pair of wire cutters from one of many pockets in his vest. After a few minutes of snipping links he carefully removed a three-foot square section of the fence, hoping that the transformed Matt Griffin was as good as he thought and the vibration alarm really had been rendered impotent.

They each scurried through the hole in the fence and advanced, crouching low to the ground until they came to another grouping of trees, which the entire team knelt behind. Desh removed his rucksack and propped it behind one of the trees, along with his submachine gun. Metzger held his MP-5 at the ready to protect Kira and Griffin while Desh peered around a tree with binoculars.

He scanned the area for several minutes. Finally, turning back to the others he mouthed, “Back in five minutes,” and then, pulling a tranquilizer gun from his vest, he stole away without a sound. The team had agreed they would only use lethal force on Putnam’s security people as a last resort. While this was being decided, Desh had an odd feeling that he was forgetting something important about the events at the safe house, but try as he might he couldn’t put his finger on what this might be.

Desh had waited until the roving security guard had moved well out of sight of his planned approach to the outer barn. The guard was still dressed as a farmhand, although his clothing was considerably warmer than it had been in the satellite photos. He and his colleague were probably quite competent, but they were overmatched by someone with Desh’s training and field experience, and lulled into a false sense of security by their faith in the perimeter alarms.

Desh crept to the side of the outermost barn and peered inside. The second guard was seated with his back to him, at a large bank of twelve monitors, twenty yards away. Desh glided forward noiselessly with his gun extended, rapidly closing the distance between them. He was able to get to within five feet of the man before he began to spin around, startled. Desh shot him in the thigh and he slumped in his chair, unconscious.

Desh studied the monitors to confirm the other security guard hadn’t moved from his position near the large horse pen, and plotted his approach. He exited the barn and circled around the property so he could come up behind the second guard. Once he had a bead on the man, he stalked him for several minutes, gradually working his way closer. He silently covered the last few feet and fired. This time the guard hadn’t had any warning at all and melted to the ground as the tranquilizer took immediate effect.

Desh pulled out his binoculars and surveyed the area. Everything looked to be in order. He double-timed it to where Metzger could see him and signaled for the rest of the group to join him. Minutes later they were at the back of the house. Desh chose a suitable window and shattered it with the back of his submachine gun, using the weapon to quickly clear away the jagged glass remaining around the perimeter of the sill. All four intruders climbed through the window one at a time until they were all safely inside the residence.

Putnam’s house was large, about 5,000 square feet. The front door opened into a living room on the left and a glass enclosed study on the right. The kitchen was spacious, with large stainless steel appliances, blue granite countertops, and a large cooking island in its center. The interior of the house was in direct contrast to its simple, rustic exterior, and managed to clash atrociously even with itself. While all of the furniture was a minimalist, ultra-modern steel, glass, and silver, the rest of the interior was reminiscent of a European palace, with crystal chandeliers and baroque oil paintings displayed in elaborate, carved wooden frames.

It was 8:30 and they still hadn’t heard the three telltale tones that would tell them that Putnam had reset the device that threatened Kira Miller, providing a twelve-hour stay of execution. No one had brought it up, but it was weighing on all of their minds.

Griffin sat at the computer in Putnam’s study and called up several screens. The rest of the team stood behind him, eagerly looking over his shoulder. “This might take a while,” he said after a few minutes. “I have to break through security and then try to find a needle in a haystack. That’s presupposing Putnam left any evidence on this computer in the first place.” He sighed. “And I’ll be trying this the old fashioned way. As much as I’d like to become a hotrodding God of a hacker again, I’m not sure I’m up to it yet. It takes a lot out of you.”

“No question about it,” said Desh.

“If I haven’t made solid progress by one or two this afternoon,” said Griffin earnestly, “I’ll take another gellcap and go to town.”

Desh nodded but wasn’t certain he liked the idea. The antisocial effect was cumulative and Griffin hadn’t handled his altered state well the first time.

Griffin bent to work on the keyboard while the three armed members of the team conducted a systematic search of Putnam’s home, looking for any clues or information that might prove useful. After forty minutes of searching, Desh activated the small microphone dangling from a cord running down his neck and checked in with Connelly in the RV. The colonel reported that all was well, and that he had not observed any suspicious activity in the vicinity.

Desh was searching through an upstairs room when Metzger’s voice came through his earpiece. “David, meet me in the basement. Something I want to show you.”

“Roger that,” he said.

Desh moved briskly and arrived at the basement just ahead of Kira, who Metzger had also summoned. The room was nicely finished, including the ceiling and walls, and was carpeted. Metzger was standing next to a door in the far corner of the basement. He motioned for Desh and Kira to join him as he opened the door and stepped through.

They entered a small, unfinished section of the basement with its original concrete floor and walls. There was a sump hole in one corner and a water heater in another.

A large, square piece of plywood was standing up against the wall, about eight feet on a side. Metzger went to an edge and pushed. The plywood slid fairly readily across the smooth floor.

Desh’s eyes widened as a square opening in the concrete wall was revealed, hidden behind the plywood. It was about six feet on a side and formed the entrance to a tunnel leading away from the house.

Metzger pulled a small flashlight from his vest and pointed it down the passageway. The tunnel continued for about thirty yards and then curved out of sight.

“Interesting,” said Desh. “Were you searching specifically for an escape hatch?” he asked the major.

Metzger nodded. “Blackmail too many powerful men and you create a few enemies. Even if Putnam convinced them the dirt he had collected would be released automatically if he was killed, he would still want to have a means to escape a frontal assault—just in case.”

“Not all that well hidden,” noted Kira.

“Doesn’t need to be on this side,” said Metzger. “Putnam would count on his security monitors giving him a head start. I’m sure the tunnel exit is well concealed. Once Putnam emerges, he can probably collapse the tunnel behind him to prevent anyone from following.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Desh. “Even though Putnam is convinced of the strength of his signal and receiver, I want Kira aboveground,” he said protectively. “Why take any chances we don’t have to? We can search this tunnel later.” He paused. “Nice work, Major.”

Desh caught Kira glancing nervously at her watch as they climbed the stairs. “I’m guessing you would have told me if you had heard three high-pitched beeps recently,” he said softly.

Kira sighed. “He’ll reset it,” she said, although with less confidence than before.

When the three of them emerged from the basement, Griffin saw them through the glass wall of the study and motioned them over.

“I haven’t found anything linking Putnam to terror or the sterilization virus,” he said when they had joined him, “but I did find files on a number of powerful people in politics and the military.”

“Compromising ones?” guessed Kira.

“Very,” he replied. “Hoover would be proud. Putnam has a number of taped phone calls implicating the callers for taking bribes, cheating on spouses, engaging in criminal activity—the works.” He paused and shook his head. “He also has a lot of these.” A video of a chubby, balding older man having sex with a buxom young beauty appeared on the screen. None of them recognized the man. “According to the file,” explained Griffin, “Baldy is the CEO of a major corporation. Putnam has videos of a number of powerful men engaged in either homosexual activity or having sex with women who aren’t their wives. But I’ll spare you any more samples,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Desh in sincere appreciation.

“Not exactly the kind of thing you’d want to be shown to your wife or children,” noted Metzger unnecessarily.

“Or your constituency,” added Desh.

A digital clock appeared at the bottom of Putnam’s computer monitor. It read 9:45. Desh eyed Kira worriedly. She was trying to keep a stiff upper lip but he could read the tension in her face.

There was a knock at the front door!

Desh grabbed Kira’s arm and rushed from the room, taking up a position on the wall flanking the front door. Metzger hurried Griffin with him into position on the other side. Both men trained their weapons at the door.

There was another knock and then the rattle of keys. Finally, the door swung slowly open.

“Hello in there,” yelled S. Frank Putnam from the entrance. “I’m alone and unarmed. I’m coming in,” he announced.

Putnam calmly entered and closed the door behind him. Once the door had closed, Desh rushed to the window and peered out. He raised his binoculars and scanned the vicinity, but didn’t see any evidence of anyone else approaching.

“Congratulations on escaping from the safe house and discovering my identity,” said Putnam sincerely. “One of these days you’ll have to tell me how you did it,” he added.

“What are you doing here?” growled Kira disdainfully.

“Making sure you don’t violate my property any further, my dear. My men will be arriving here in about ten minutes,” he said, “but I thought I’d say hello and give you a chance to surrender first.”

“Why?” asked Desh suspiciously.

“I don’t want to risk any injury to Dr. Miller, of course.”

“Other than your implanted bomb that’s set to go off in twelve minutes, you mean,” said Desh.

“Twelve minutes is plenty of time for me to reset it; which I fully intend to do. I just wanted to tell you personally that you’ll soon be greatly outnumbered, and urge you to surrender when my men arrive.”

Desh spoke into the microphone of his walkie-talkie. “Colonel, possible incoming hostiles converging on our position. Do you have a visual?”

There was no answer.

“Colonel, come in.” He paused and lifted the tiny microphone to his mouth. “Come in,” he said anxiously. “Say again, possible incoming hostiles.”

“What’s the matter, Desh?” taunted Putnam. “No answer?”

“What did you do!” demanded Kira in alarm.

“You think my men wouldn’t spot a fucking RV?” said Putnam contemptuously. “That thing’s a monstrosity.”

“What did you do!” persisted Kira.

“As it turns out, absolutely nothing, my dear. Your friend the colonel did it to himself.”

“Did what to himself?” snapped Desh.

“When my people boarded the RV, your colonel friend was hiding in the bedroom. Thought he’d be cute and wear electronic earplugs and goggles and toss out a stun grenade. He figured he would recover his sight and hearing before we did.” Putnam shook his head in amusement. “He didn’t count on the vibration knocking him off his feet. His head slammed into the corner of an end table. Killed him instantly.” He paused, milking the moment. “It wasn’t pretty.”

The four intruders traded horrified glances. Even Kira and Griffin, who hadn’t known the colonel very well, looked ill at the loss of such a good man.

Putnam made a show of looking at his watch. “You have five minutes to come out with your hands raised,” he said. “After that my men will come in after you.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a cruel smile. “But I really have to go now, my dear. If I’m late resetting that little device in your head, I might end up with brain splatter on my drapes.” He raised his eyebrows. “Can’t have that, can we?”

Kira raised her gun and pointed it at Putnam. “Don’t take another step!” she growled.

“Or what?” he said scornfully. “You’re going to shoot me?” He shook his head and laughed. “You’re going to give yourself five minutes to live? You’re going to kill the only chance you have to keep the lid on Pandora’s box? I don’t think so.”

A bullet exploded from Kira’s gun and tore through Putnam’s chest, slamming him back against the door. “Think again,” she whispered, her face a mask of rage. She walked toward him and emptied the entire magazine into his body.

“Kira, what are you doing!” screamed Desh.

“He had to die,” she spat hatefully.

Kira Miller turned away from the body and gathered herself. “David, take Putnam’s escape tunnel and get out of here. Using my treatment the three of you can stop Putnam’s plot. I know you can. But with the leverage he had over me, I was hurting our chances. Beat this bastard and then carry out your vision. You’re a good man. I have confidence in you.”

Desh said nothing, but reached out to hold her. She melted into his arms and several tears escaped from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

“David,” she whispered, still in his arms, “I’m going to give you the GPS coordinates to my flash drive. If for some reason you aren’t able to stop the virus, I’m counting on you to give the secret of longevity to the world.”

Kira Miller wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and focused with all of her heart on unlocking her memory. Not because some external force was demanding it, but because she wanted to give it freely. To this man. A man she had come to trust and admire. Her instincts in choosing David Desh had been perfect. Had things been otherwise, who knew where their relationship might have led.

She gasped. Like a dam bursting, her memory came flooding back into her mind!

Kira cupped her hands around Desh’s ear and whispered the coordinates. She repeated the coordinates several times until Desh was able to whisper them back to her. Even if he forgot them, she knew, his enhanced mind would remember them with perfect clarity, along with the exact feel of her breath in his ear and her exact pronunciation of every number.

Now she knew that her life extension discovery would live on, even if she didn’t. And Desh would only reveal it if Putnam’s plan couldn’t be stopped. She was certain of it.

Kira pushed Desh away as several more tears began to slide down her face. “You need to keep your distance,” she said.

It was 9:59 and the second hand on Desh’s watch was sweeping around the dial at a sickening pace. “Kira, you’re the most extraordinary woman I have ever known,” said Desh with absolute sincerity.

She forced a brave smile for the benefit of Desh and the two other members of the team. “Thanks. I just hope I was wrong about that afterlife thing,” she said.

And with that, Kira Miller closed her eyes and awaited oblivion.

Kira’s three companions closed their eyes with her. Precious seconds continued ticking.

An explosion rocked the room!

It was intense beyond reason. The flash from the explosion was as bright as a supernova and blinded everyone in the room, even through closed eyelids.

Desh realized he couldn’t hear and then instantly realized something else: the explosion had been from a stun grenade, not from the device in Kira’s head.

He swung around to defend himself but it was too late. Two men grabbed him roughly, one of them pressing a gun to his face. The other pulled his arms behind his back and tightened an all too familiar plasticuff restraint around his wrists. He knew not to resist. Deaf and blind with a gun in your cheek was not an ideal tactical position in which to be. He was pushed roughly into the wall and was frisked expertly, his weapons quickly removed.

Desh’s eyesight and hearing gradually returned. The room began to come into focus once again.

Kira Miller was standing next to him! Alive! And it was after 10 o’clock.

Desh and Kira had been forced next to each other, flanked by two armed commandoes who had each worn electronic earplugs and goggles during the raid. Griffin and Metzger had been herded together about ten yards away, flanked by their own heavily armed guards. Putnam’s bloody, bullet riddled body lay between the two groups.

The commandoes must have arrived through Putnam’s tunnel in the basement, Desh realized, lobbing in a few flashbangs to easily overpower the inhabitants of the living room.

A handsome, clean-cut civilian of average size and weight, wearing casual slacks and a sport coat walked briskly and arrogantly into the living room. His blue eyes were eerily calm, but there was also both a shrewdness and a menace to them; like those of a poisonous snake just before a strike.

Kira Miller gasped! She reached out to steady herself, having momentarily become dizzy.

“Alan?” she croaked in dismay, barely able to get the name out.

“Hello, Kira,” he said cheerfully. “Happy to see your big brother alive?”

Kira was too stunned to reply. She stood facing him with her mouth open.

“Or just happy that the device Putnam put in your skull was a bluff?”

Kira’s mind awakened from its paralysis. She didn’t understand. Anything. Her brother was alive! And Putnam’s bomb had been a bluff! Her emotions were at such a fever pitch she was afraid she would explode after all.

“Search their pockets carefully,” Alan Miller instructed the men. “If any of them have small pills on them, it’s important they be found.”

The men conducted a full body search and quickly found the gellcaps Desh and Metzger were carrying in their pockets. The soldiers handed them to a delighted Alan Miller. He pocketed the gellcaps and turned to his sister. “Thanks, Kira. I can use all of these I can get.”

“What’s going on Alan?” pleaded Kira, recovering some of her equilibrium.

Her brother grinned. “Isn’t it remarkable. As brilliant as you are and you have no fucking clue.” He sighed. “I suppose I can spoon feed it to you. But not here. Let’s adjourn to more comfortable surroundings—at least for me,” he said, quite pleased with himself.

As he finished speaking the all-too-familiar sound of helicopters filled the living room. “Right on schedule,” noted Alan. He gestured to the front door. “After you,” he said.

Two commandoes raised automatic weapons and motioned them toward the door.

“What about them?” said Kira, gesturing to Griffin and Metzger.

Alan frowned. “They won’t be coming with,” he shouted over the incoming helicopters. “We’ll see. If I think I can use them as leverage with you, perhaps I’ll let them live out the day.”

Alan Miller exited the house with his sister and Desh in tow as three helicopters landed on Putnam’s property. The two outer choppers were of military design, but the one in the middle was civilian. It was white with red accents and was roughly the same size as a Blackhawk. The word Sikorsky was printed tastefully on its shell. This model was very exclusive, the type used by CEOs and heads of state, and could seat up to ten passengers in decadent luxury.

Alan nodded at the commandoes. “Secure them,” he ordered.

The soldiers opened the door to the chopper and pushed the two captives inside. The passenger compartment was truly spectacular: more opulent than the most luxurious limousine. There was enough headroom to walk through the cabin comfortably, a fully stocked bar, lacquered wood cabinetry, mirrors and inlaid video screens. The seats were all cushioned captain’s chairs covered by the finest leather, with burled walnut finishes, separated from each other by spacious armrests with compartments for wine glasses and phones.

Desh moved! He head butted one of the commandoes to the floor of the cabin and threw his shoulder into the other, slamming him against the cockpit door. The man on the floor recovered with remarkable rapidity and rammed his rifle into the back of Desh’s leg. Desh fell to his knees. By this time the other soldier had recovered and landed a fierce blow to Desh’s face. He then clutched a fistful of Desh’s hair and threw him back into a captain’s chair at the back of the Sikorsky. “Don’t try that again, asshole,” growled the solider. “Next time I won’t be so gentle.”

The soldiers proceeded to bind the two prisoners securely to the chairs. As an added precaution one of the men strung razor wire across the aisle just below their chins. If they moved forward the wire would slice into their necks.

When his men reported that all was secure, Alan Miller entered the helicopter and nodded for the commandoes to leave. He opened the door to the cockpit. “Make sure we aren’t being followed,” he directed the pilot. “Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

Alan closed the cockpit door and walked a few paces to the bar. He added several ice cubes to a cocktail glass and then calmly, deliberately, filled it with equal parts Scotch and club soda as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Finally he sat across from his sister and Desh and took a sip of his drink, closing his eyes to savor it.

“Now, that’s more like it,” he said. “No reason not to be civilized,” he added smugly.

He reached out and rapped on the cabin door twice, and moments later the helicopter lifted off.

“Finally,” said Alan Miller, “we can have a private conversation. The pilots can’t hear anything being said in this compartment.”

The all-enclosed cabin was carefully designed to keep the din of the helicopter blades from encroaching, and Kira realized they would be able to converse without shouting. Executives demanded a quiet ride and had the money to ensure they got it.

Kira was wounded to the depths of her soul. The pain in her eyes was profound. “It was you all along,” she said numbly to her brother.

He nodded. “For someone so brilliant, you don’t catch on very fast,” he commented.

“My teachers,” she said weakly. “Mom and Dad. Uncle Kevin. It was you?”

Alan grinned. “Who else?” he said proudly. “But don’t beat yourself up. I was the model big brother around you. A perfect angel. Otherwise, I’m sure you’d have at least considered a possibility so obvious it could have bit you in the ass.”

Kira trembled and for a moment thought she might vomit. “Did anyone suspect?” she croaked.

“Of course,” he said. “How could they not? But I was clever. I did most of my killing away from home. And I knew enough to cultivate a saintly image around you. You had the potential to be my Achilles’ heel. I couldn’t kill you, that would arouse too much suspicion after the other deaths. Yet if I let you glimpse my true nature, I was sure you would put two and two together and turn me in.” He paused. “Look at the Unabomber. Brought down by his own brother.” He shook his head in mock disgust. “Whatever happened to sibling loyalty?”

A tear ran down Kira Miller’s face. She had thought that nothing could hurt her more than she had already been hurt. But she was wrong. This was the older brother she had adored. But he had been a psychopath all the while. His had been the ultimate betrayal, and he had made a fool of her. How could she have been so blind!

“What’s wrong, Kira?” he said, sneering. “Thought you were a better judge of human nature?” His lip curled up in contempt. “You were so easy to fool. So needy.”

“You’re a monster,” she whispered, now loathing the creature in front of her and loathing herself even more for having cared for him so deeply.

Alan laughed. “Someone had to balance out your nauseating self-righteousness,” he replied. “But you know how it is. Us psychopaths don’t really see anything wrong with our behavior. And if it makes you feel any better, Mom and Dad’s life insurance policy was a great leg up for a struggling college student.”

She glared at him hatefully. “So you murdered Mom and Dad and then pretended to come to my rescue. So I would adore you even more.”

Alan smiled serenely.

“And then you framed me in a way that would lead people to believe that I was a psychopath and responsible for these murders. Murders that you had committed.”

“Nice touch, don’t you think?”

“The worst part of it all,” she said in disgust, “is that you made me care about you. I loved you!” She turned her eyes away. “And you made me think I had caused your death,” she added in outrage.

“Well, now you know better,” he replied smoothly. “So cheer up.”

Thin shades made of cherry-wood, which could be raised or lowered with the touch of a button, were completely covering the chopper’s large windows, giving the prisoners no indication as to their heading. The helicopter’s ride was so smooth and the noise so unobtrusive it was easy to forget they were flying.

“So how do you fit into all of this?” asked Desh.

“Fascinating story,” said Alan, amused. “I was visiting my dear little sister in her condo in La Jolla while she was working for NeuroCure. Naturally, she insisted I stay at her place. She always did. After all, she truly adored me.”

Kira’s eyes blazed in fury at this but she remained silent.

“She had to go into work a few times,” continued Alan. “So, as is my nature, I thought I would explore her place. See what I could find. Didn’t take me long to find her false bottomed drawer with her lab notebook and gellcaps inside.” He paused. “So I tried one,” he said simply. “It didn’t take a super-genius, which I soon became, to grasp the possibilities.”

Desh frowned. “So you decided to stage a break-in and steal them all.”

“Not right away,” replied Alan with an air of superiority. “I waited until a few months after my visit so my sister would never suspect I was responsible. And I didn’t just take the gellcaps. I took a sample of Kira’s hair as well, in case I ever needed it to frame her.” He looked quite pleased with himself. “I like to plan ahead.”

Desh shook his head in disgust. He had used a strand of the hair he had taken to frame her for his own murder.

“Then I waited a few days and killed Kira’s boss to throw her a head fake,” said Alan. “When you’re under the influence of her treatment, things become crystal clear. I was certain that if I killed Morgan, she would jump to the conclusion that he had stolen the pills and was double-crossed by a powerful partner.”

Desh knew this was the exact conclusion Kira had reached. “And then you hired Lusetti to watch her.”

“I thought it best to leave her alone to make other ah … mind-blowing … discoveries, and then swoop in and steal these as well. Meanwhile, I was using her pills judiciously to set up my empire.”

“Where does Putnam fit in?” asked Desh.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, with intelligence this great fortunes can be amassed in any number of ways,” he replied, swirling his drink around absently. “But if power is your drug, pulling strings at the most powerful intelligence gathering organization in the history of mankind has certain advantages.”

“But why Putnam? Did you know him?”

Alan shook his head. “While using Kira’s therapy, I broke into the personal computers of a number of mid-level NSA operatives. Putnam was one of them. We were like-minded and he was particularly savage. I was able to dig up enough dirt on him to guarantee him the death sentence several times over. So I recruited him and masterminded his climb up the ladder. We made a great team.”

“Did you give him any gellcaps?” asked Kira.

“Of course not,” he snapped disdainfully. “Do I look like an idiot. Putnam was far too ruthless and ambitious to be trusted. If he ever became transformed, I was certain he would find a way to turn the tables on me.” He paused. “The only person I ever allowed to become transformed, other than myself, was a molecular biologist Putnam was blackmailing. And this was done under extraordinarily secure conditions, and only to ensure I would have an unlimited supply of your treatment.”

“So when Putnam was boasting about his activities, he was really describing what you had done,” said Desh.

“That’s right,” he replied. “We rehearsed everything he said to you. I even instructed him to kill the man you know as Smith in front of you. Putnam had no idea why I wanted him to pretend to be me.” Alan sneered. “But he knew better than to question me,” he added icily.

Alan Miller walked a few steps to the bar and began pouring himself another drink. He turned to Desh once again. “I recruited Putnam and began building wealth and power all the while my sister was working on extended life. I always knew what she was up to. I made it a point to know, despite the precautions she thought she was taking after my break-in.” He added ice to his glass and returned to his seat. “When Lusetti reported she was closing up shop, I suspected she had made a breakthrough.”

“So you flew to San Diego to find out,” said Desh.

“When I learned the secret wasn’t in her computer and would have to be coerced from her, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone. With emphasis on kill,” he added sardonically. “I had been considering faking my own death, anyway, and starting over with a new identity that was off the grid.”

“And you knew your sister worshipped you. So you decided to pretend to be a hostage and use the threat of your own death as leverage.”

Alan nodded. “It was a brilliant plan, if I do say so myself.” He paused for a moment and his features hardened. “But I didn’t count on the memory trap she had made,” he growled through clenched teeth. “That fucked everything up.” He swirled his drink and stared at it in his hand, as if mesmerized, until he was icy calm once again.

“So given the memory blockade, why even bother with Kira?” asked Desh. “Why not just optimize your molecular biologist until he repeated her work, saving yourself the headache?”

“Because compared to my freak of a sister, he’s a moron. It took him years to duplicate her brain optimization therapy—and he had the instructions. Even enhanced, I doubt there are even three or four scientists in the world who would could duplicate her longevity work.” He shook his head. “No, she was the only game in town. But as if her memory trick wasn’t annoying enough, she managed to kill that dumb bastard Lusetti and vanish from the grid. I’m man enough to admit that this really pissed me off,” he said with apparent calm, but his tone couldn’t fully disguise an unmistakable undercurrent of barely contained rage at this memory, even now. “But only for a short while,” he added. “I regrouped. I took another of her smart pills, and I came up with my grand plan the very next day.”

“Putnam told us,” said Kira in disgust. “Mass sterilization of women just so you can extend your twisted existence for a few years.”

Alan laughed. “Mass sterilization?” he repeated in amusement. “Don’t believe everything you’re told.”

“I don’t understand,” said Kira.

“That’s because you’re so sanctimonious you refuse to give yourself the very gift you created. If you would have taken one of your own pills, you would have seen through this ruse in an instant.” He shook his head in disappointment. “You really are a lot less intelligent than I remembered.” He spread his hands innocently. “Why would I possibly want to sterilize anybody?”

She looked confused. “First, to motivate me to unlock my memories.”

Alan shook his head. “When I enhanced myself after I had faked my death, I pondered the likely properties of your memory prison. I realized right away that no threat, no matter how great, would enable you to crack it.” He gestured toward her encouragingly. “By all means, guess again.”

“Because if you succeeded—if ours really did become mankind’s last generation—I would be forced to give you my secret for the survival of the species. Or to Putnam, at any rate.”

“Give it to Putnam?” he hissed, as if outraged. “Give it to me? Kira, you would never give your secret to either one of us. You can only unlock your memory if you truly want to. And you would never want to for me or Putnam. You would bide your time, knowing we wouldn’t kill you, until you could escape. That way you’d make sure we didn’t hoard the secret and use it for our own ends. Make sure the entire world was a beneficiary.” He scowled. “You and I both know that’s what you’d do.”

Kira nodded. “You’re right,” she acknowledged reluctantly.

“Of course I am. And if I kept you hostage and tried to force it out of you, I’d be back where I started. Catch 22. So the only way I could get it is if I let you go and you gave it to the entire world.” He paused. “And while this would, indeed, ensure I lived longer along with the rest of the masses, I would lose the use of the most powerful lever in history.” He smiled cruelly. “You see, I’m a little selfish. I want the secret all to myself. To use as I see fit.”

“I still don’t see it,” said Kira. “The Ebola cold-virus was a bluff. The explosive in my head was a bluff. The sterilization plot was a bluff. Why? How do they all fit together? And what did all of these machinations buy you?”

Her brother smiled broadly. “As it turns out, Kira … everything.”

Alan Miller took a sip of his drink, a delighted gleam in his eye, obviously reveling in finally being able to share his warped maneuverings with a rapt audience. He was savoring the telling of a story that would twist the knife in his prisoners over and over again. “As I said, I knew with certainty that you couldn’t be coerced. So I had to ask my unfathomably brilliant transformed self this question: under what conditions would my little sister give up her secret? Once I answered this, all I had to do was establish these conditions.” He rolled his eyes. “A lot easier said than done, I must admit.”

“So what were the conditions?” asked Kira, but a sick feeling had grown in the pit of her stomach. She realized she had just given Desh the location of the flash drive. She knew exactly what combination of conditions this had taken. But for Alan to suggest he had orchestrated things from the start to bring about these conditions was preposterous. Besides, she had whispered the coordinates directly in Desh’ ear, and no listening device was sensitive enough to catch that.

“First,” began Alan, “you had to respect someone enough to trust them with your secret. If you were forever a loner and didn’t have anyone to trust, no combination of circumstances would do.”

He turned to Desh. “That’s where you come in. You were handpicked for this role.”

“What are you talking about?” snapped Desh in confusion.

“Who do you think set you up in Iran?” he said smugly, a Cheshire grin on his face.

“Impossible!” barked Desh. “You’re saying you expected me to team up with your sister even then?”

Alan Miller nodded. “I wanted to ensure she had someone to confide in. Believe me, Desh, I know my sister’s taste in men. I’ve met the guys she’s dated and she’s told me, in nauseating detail, the kind of man she’s looking for. I studied the records of scores of Special Forces operatives before stumbling onto a ringer like you. You’re her exact type physically. Brilliant in your own right. Personable. You studied philosophy for Christ’s sake. You like poetry. Incredibly well read. Sickeningly righteous.” He grinned. “You’re catnip to her. The transformed me was convinced that if you two were thrown together under desperate circumstances, there’s no way she doesn’t fall in love with you.”

Alan gazed at his sister knowingly. “Go ahead, Kira. I know I chose well. Tell him. You’re in love with him already.”

Kira lowered her eyes but said nothing.

A startled look flashed over Desh’s face, and he appeared totally dumbstruck. His eyes darted to the side as if desperately trying to read Kira’s expression.

Alan laughed. “I’ll be damned!” he said, studying Desh. “You’re in love with her, also. I can see it in your face.” He laughed again. “I should be a fucking matchmaker.”

Kira gazed at Desh and her eyes widened. She had been feeling like an idiot, desperately trying to hide her feelings from him, convinced that true love was something that happened over years rather than days. But she sensed her brother, evil as he was, had guessed correctly. Desh had fallen for her as well.

Alan shifted his attention back to his sister. “I had hoped this would happen. When both parties can subconsciously pick up on each other’s signals of infatuation, the effect is accelerated. My in-depth study of Desh suggested he liked girl-next-door types who were his match intellectually, but frankly, Kira, I was convinced your irritating personality would turn him off.” He raised his eyebrows. “Despite not having a firsthand knowledge of Desh’s taste in women, my brilliant, transformed self calculated there was a good chance he would fall for you too.” He shook his head in wonder. “Ironic that a being of pure intellect could so accurately predict a largely irrational, involuntary response.”

“You should feel very proud of yourself,” spat Desh bitterly.

Alan looked back and forth between his two prisoners and smiled in delight. “What’s the matter, you two? You look angry and confused. Feeling manipulated? Feeling like experimental animals? Does the fact that I orchestrated your feelings for each other to serve my purposes taint them?”

At this, Desh’s expression became thoughtful, and he shook his head ever so slightly, as though the moment Alan had voiced what he had been feeling, he had realized these feelings were misguided. “No taint Alan. My feelings for Kira are my own. If you were responsible for allowing me to meet such a remarkable woman, than I thank you, regardless of your motives.” Desh paused. “And if you predicted we would fall for each other,” he continued, “so what? Someone might be able to predict my loathing of you, but that doesn’t make it any less real.”

Alan Miller laughed. “Your loathing of me is about to take a sharp turn for the worse,” he said icily. “Allow me to continue. Once I knew you were the right man, I made sure you encountered tragedy, so you would be a wounded soul and would break all ties with other women. To make you more appealing to my sister. After all, what could possibly be more appealing than a tortured, unattached hero?”

“You really did set us up in Iran, didn’t you?” whispered Desh in horror.

“Putnam arranged for that particular—what do you grunts like to call it—oh yeah … clusterfuck. He didn’t have any idea why. Those stupid-assed terrorists were well paid to make sure you escaped alive, but they almost blew it. I needed you injured, but not as injured as you were.”

“You’re saying they let me escape?”

“That’s right.”

“Why did you need me injured? So I’d cut an even more sympathetic figure for Kira?”

Alan smiled. “I’ll answer that a little later. I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. And I really do want to share with you how brilliantly you were both manipulated. After all, you’re the only two people in the world who will ever have a chance to appreciate my mastery.” He paused. “Shall I continue?”

Desh nodded while Kira glared at her brother hatefully.

“The optimized me figured there was a fifty-fifty chance Desh would leave the service. Either way, it didn’t really matter to my plan.”

“If your plan was to get me to team up with Kira, why did you wait so long?”

“She wasn’t ready yet. I wanted her harried. Chasing her; almost catching her; isolating her. Making her feel persecuted and alone. Crushing her spirit. I needed her primed for the arrival of her white knight. When I judged she was at the end of her rope, I pulled the strings to have you come in.”

Kira knew this is exactly what had happened. She had recruited David because she was lonely and fatigued. Alan’s execution had been flawless.

“Are you saying you could have captured her earlier?” said Desh.

Alan shrugged. “Possibly,” he said. “If I had made more balls-out attempts. I tried to capture her in the early days, but failed. My enhanced self had calculated that if I captured her, tortured her a bit, and then let her find a way to escape, this would accelerate her readiness to seek out an ally like you, and I could move up my time table.” An annoyed look came over his face. “But she was a lot better than I thought she’d be. And when I got close she would take bold risks with her own life to elude capture, which I couldn’t have. So I changed gears and made harassment my primary objective.”

“How did you get me assigned?” asked Desh.

Alan grinned. “With the powerful people Putnam and I have in our pockets, it was laughably easy. I had an influential politician with plenty of skeletons in his closet arrange for it all with Connelly’s bosses. And I had long since made sure the identities of all of the agents sent after her were recorded in a database I knew she could breach.”

“Because you knew she would study them,” said Desh. “You needed her to study them.”

He nodded. “She studied others that were sent after her without effect, but I knew if she was properly primed and studied your photo and history, she would try to recruit you.”

Kira Miller felt bile rise in her throat. This thing pretending to be her brother was distilled evil. What twist of fate had led to her parents giving birth to two mutant children: a daughter with unequaled genius for molecular biology and a son born entirely without a conscience.

“She took the bait just as I knew she would,” boasted Alan. “I had planned on having the two of you captured by my Black Ops dupe, Smith, and held together as prisoners for a few days to allow love to blossom. But you kept eluding him.” Alan shrugged. “Served my purposes anyway. In fact, your escapes from the motel and woods probably cemented your relationship.” A content, self-satisfied expression came over his face. “Then all that was left to do was have Putnam capture you both and pretend to be me, initiating a perfect storm of circumstances that would cause Kira to tell her lover-boy her secret.”

The helicopter banked, reminding the prisoners they were tearing through the air at great speed to an unknown destination, something easy to forget given the near perfect stillness of the opulent, enclosed cabin. “How did you know you would be able to find us when you needed to?” asked Desh.

“This is where the need for you to get seriously injured in Iran comes in. We ordered a military surgeon to add a few implants in addition to fixing you up. The orders came from the highest military channels. He was told this was being done because you were a known traitor.” Alan smirked. “He was even told you had set up your own men.”

Desh lunged forward in fury, his neck catching enough of the wire in front of him to draw blood, if only shallowly. “You sick bastard!” he screamed, his rage finally spilling out.

Alan Miller continued calmly as if Desh’s outburst had never happened. “The surgeon implanted a tiny, remote homing device on your elbow, just under the skin. The device was designed to lie completely dormant until pinged by a coded signal, upon which point it would activate. You could scan for bugs all you wanted when it was dormant and it wouldn’t register. While the bomb in Kira’s head was a bluff, the advanced receivers Putnam told you about are very real. As Kira well knows, when you’ve taken one of her pills, improving electronics becomes child’s play.”

“So you could have captured us at any time David was with me?” said Kira in shock.

“That’s right. But after you avoided capture, I didn’t want to reacquire you too quickly. You two had to have some time to bond.” He paused and watched blood slowly roll down Desh’s neck with fascination. “When you escaped from the safe house, I was forced yet again to alter my plans. I had planned on the two of you remaining prisoners for several days there and then arranging for your escape, with Putnam being killed in the process.” He shrugged. “No matter. I was able to make some adjustments and everything still worked out as planned.”

“You still don’t have the coordinates,” said Kira defiantly.

“Don’t I?” said her brother, smirking. “The homing device wasn’t the only thing the surgeon in Iraq implanted when he was operating on Desh. He also gave him cochlear implants—one for each ear. It’s a standard procedure for people deaf or very hard of hearing. Only the implants he received were silicon-chip based recording units. They record digitally and can be downloaded to a computer for playback.” He sipped his drink and smiled. “They have a finite battery life and only record from ten to eighteen hours, depending on the amount of input, so I had these set to be activated by my signal as well.”

“And you activated them within the past ten hours, I presume,” said Desh.

“Right you are,” said Alan happily. “Using the homing device I had implanted, I easily tracked you to Putnam’s house. After all my painstaking planning, at long last I had created the perfect storm.” He gazed at his sister smugly. “A man you trusted and were falling in love with. A credible threat to species survival. And you convinced that you had but minutes to live.”

Much of the fire had left Kira Miller as the realization hit her with full force that this monster had won. And she had dutifully played her role as the perfect little pawn. She glanced at her bonds and the razor wire at her throat. Escape was impossible. And even if she could escape, what would she do? Would she kill her own brother?

She clenched her fists. This wasn’t her brother, she told herself forcefully. This was a twisted imposter. Believing this was the only way her psyche could survive a betrayal this vast. Her brother had died in a fire in their childhood home. The monster in front of her was a complete stranger.

“The finishing touch to my masterpiece,” continued Alan, “was for you to think your arch-enemy was dead.”

“Why?” said Desh.

“If Kira suspected a powerful enemy with access to her treatment was still at large, she would have been far less comfortable disclosing the GPS coordinates.” He raised his eyebrows. “Putnam had no idea what my real plan was. Certainly not that his extermination was a key ingredient. With the arch-enemy who had killed your brother dead, you were free to whisper your secret right into Desh’s cochlea.”

Alan paused to let his prisoners ponder just how utterly they had been manipulated; just how complete his victory.

“What if Kira hadn’t killed Putnam?”

“I suspected she would. I made sure he boasted about killing me just to rub salt in her wound. And my sister is so fucking predictable. So fucking noble. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am that we sprang from the same womb.”

“Believe me,” said Kira Miller, scowling, “your disappointment pales in comparison to mine.”

“But to answer your question, Desh,” said Alan, as if his sister had not spoken, “I was the one who sent Putnam into his house to talk with you in the first place. I had a sniper targeting him while the rest of my men came up through his tunnel. If Kira had failed to shoot him, my sniper would have done so the moment he opened the door.” He paused. “You wouldn’t know who had killed him or why, but that wouldn’t matter. With the only man capable of resetting the supposed explosive charge in Kira’s skull dead, she would once again tell you her secret, believing she had but minutes to live and having no guarantee that the sterilization plot could be stopped.”

Desh nodded miserably. “It appears you thought of everything,” he said, looking defeated for the first time.

“You’re damn straight,” said Alan smugly.

The helicopter had landed almost five minutes before but Alan Miller was clearly enjoying himself too much to put a temporary halt to the proceedings, and the pilots knew better than to interrupt their boss. Finally, Alan decided a change in venue was in order.

Six soldiers, once again dressed in commando gear, had surrounded the helicopter and were waiting patiently for Alan Miller to open the helicopter door. “Bring them inside,” he barked. He then nodded toward Desh at the back of the chopper. “And make sure this one is completely immobilized on the gurney. He’s ex-Special Forces.”

Gurney? Desh didn’t like the sound of that. The blood had stopped dripping from his neck, but he was battered and bruised from the melee on the helicopter. It was getting difficult to remember when he had last showered or a time when he wasn’t bound. Perhaps in years past a captor would have felt secure simply holding a gun on him without feeling the need to immobilize him as well, but this was no longer the case. The almost superhuman portrayal of Special Forces soldiers by the media and in fiction had unfortunately ensured that he was rarely underestimated.

Three soldiers entered the chopper and removed all restraints but the plasticuffs binding the prisoners’ wrists behind their backs. They were marched off the helicopter. A mansion that would not have been out of place in ancient Greece loomed in front of them. Massive white pillars flanked its entrance, and it was centered on acres and acres of meticulously manicured grounds, complete with ponds, gardens and winding streams. Two large, multi-tiered marble fountains stood at its entrance, with life-sized statues of Greek Gods drinking nectar from massive chalices. No other houses were visible for as far as the eye could see in any direction.

They were ushered through the oversized front door and into a vaulted room with twice as much floor space as Kira’s entire RV. The floor was white marble, and a 95-inch plasma television hung on the wall like a massive work of modern art, with ten movie-theater style seats facing it. The mansion’s interior contained numerous statues and paintings, all depicting Greek Gods, as if Alan Miller considered himself a modern Zeus and had built himself an Olympus in which to reside.

Desh was shoved roughly on his back onto the wheeled, stainless steel gurney of which Alan had spoken, his hands still cuffed behind him. Two of the mercenaries strapped him down and checked to be sure he couldn’t escape. Kira’s hands were also cuffed behind her and were now cuffed to the gleaming steel gurney as well.

Alan Miller entered the room briskly and stood beside the gurney, so both prisoners could see him well. “This is my media room,” he announced proudly. “What do you think?”

Desh looked up at him icily. “I think I’m going to enjoy watching you die,” he said intently.

“Very good,” said Alan approvingly. “What bravado. No wonder my sister likes you so much. I’m afraid you’re at a bit of a disadvantage, though. While I don’t have fancy electronic security systems, I do have twelve war-hardened mercenaries who patrol the grounds. I pay them extremely well.” He shook his head, unimpressed. “Forgive me for not feeling threatened.”

“So what now?” said Desh.

“A surgeon of my acquaintance is on his way. He’ll be here in about ten minutes. He’ll remove your implants and then, at long last, I’ll take my first step toward immortality.”

“A surgeon? Isn’t that a little delicate for a butcher like you,” said Desh. “Why not just kill me?”

“Fair question,” he said. He held his hands out, palms up, and sighed. “Technology these days. It’s remarkably reliable on the whole, but you just never know. If for some reason the recorder failed to activate or to capture the GPS coordinates properly, I’m going to need you alive so you can tell me the coordinates yourself.”

Desh eyed Alan Miller with contempt. “You’d better hope your recorder worked then, because you’ll never get the coordinates from me. With truth drugs or otherwise.”

Alan laughed. “Part of me almost hopes it didn’t work, just so we can find out.”

“And if it did?” said Desh.

“I may keep you alive as leverage. I still need my sister to continue her longevity work. She is still the best biologist of her generation.”

There was a long silence during which Alan Miller appeared to be lost in thought. “Now that I’ve answered all your questions,” he said finally. “I have one of my own.” He raised his eyebrows. “How did you escape from the safe house?”

Desh smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” he said.

“Oh, you’ll tell me all right. What you—”

Outside, the Sikorsky helicopter erupted into flames!

The explosion rocked the mansion as if an earthquake had struck.

Alan Miller rushed to a window. All hell was breaking loose! The military helicopter that had fired a missile into the Sikorsky was now strafing the grounds with its machine guns. At least two of Alan’s mercenaries were dead and several others had taken positions in preparation for a firefight, or were racing to take cover. Billowing smoke from the flaming helicopter created a surreal haze over the entire scene, and heavy gunfire could be heard from multiple quarters.

Alan could tell his sister had been as stunned as he was. But he had caught a certain gleam in David Desh’s eye as he ran to the window. Desh had not been surprised.

Alan raced over to the gurney and looked down at Desh. “What’s going on?” he demanded, speaking loudly to be heard over the raging battle taking place outside, the room’s marble floor doing nothing to dampen the noise.

“I don’t have any idea,” said Desh, raising his voice to a near shout as well.

Alan grabbed Desh’s head and slammed it into the gurney. “I repeat,” he screamed menacingly, “what is going on!”

Desh’s face remained stoically impassive, despite the blow to his head, and it was clear he would not be responding.

“Okay, lover boy,” he spat at Desh. “Let’s see how brave you are when it comes to my sister.”

Alan walked rapidly to a desk and returned with a sharply pointed silver letter-opener. Without warning he plunged it savagely into his sister’s arm.

Kira issued a startled shriek as blood began to soak her sweatshirt.

Alan wrapped his left forearm tightly around his sister’s neck from behind and extended his right arm in front of her, the now bloody letter-opener pointed at her face. “Tell me exactly what’s going on,” he barked at Desh. “The first time I even suspect you’re lying to me, she loses an eye.”

Desh looked into Alan’s eyes and had no doubt he would do it. He would enjoy doing it. “I set you up,” said Desh quickly.

“Impossible,” said Alan, holding the point of the letter-opener a few inches from his sister’s left eye and slowly moving it forward.

“I used one of Kira’s pills,” said Desh hurriedly, desperate to convince Alan he was telling the truth. “That’s how we escaped from Putnam’s safe house.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed. He lowered the letter opener as he considered this new information worriedly. Without saying anything more, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a gellcap, and hurriedly swallowed it.

“You know the awesome ability of an enhanced mind to see patterns and make connections,” continued Desh. “And I’m not your sister, whose every memory is of the saintly Alan Miller. Kira was at the epicenter of the deaths of her parents and uncle and teachers—but so was her brother. And there was nothing left of your body but ashes. Very convenient. I realized this exact endgame was a likely possibility immediately. The most likely possibility. My surprised reactions since you arrived at Putnam’s have been nothing but an act.”

Kira Miller couldn’t hide her shock.

“You’re lying,” snapped Alan. “I can tell from Kira’s reaction.”

“She didn’t know.”

“You suspected all of this and you didn’t tell her?” said Alan in disbelief.

“There was a chance I was wrong,” replied Desh. “That Putnam was behind everything and the situation was exactly as it had been portrayed. I didn’t want to give Kira false hopes that the bomb implant was a fake, or tarnish her memory of you if I was wrong.” Desh paused. “There was also one other consideration,” he said, trying to stall by divulging information as piecemeal as he thought he could get away with.

“What?” snapped Alan impatiently.

Desh paused for another second before answering. “I wanted her reactions to be real,” he said. “The same with Griffin and Metzger. When the explosive device failed to go off, when you arrived, I couldn’t count on their acting abilities. I didn’t want to tip you off that I was on to you.”

Alan shook his head vigorously. “Bullshit!” he snapped. “If you suspected, you wouldn’t have let Kira give you the GPS coordinates, and you wouldn’t have let me capture you.”

“Think again, psycho,” said Desh in contempt. “I didn’t know how to find you. I needed you to reveal yourself. And I wanted you to brag about your achievements so I could be sure I hadn’t missed anything.” Desh raised his eyebrows. “Not to mention that I detected your implanted cochlear recorders while I was enhanced and used my immune system to deactivate them.” He smiled broadly. “Whose feeling manipulated now, asshole!” he spat hatefully.

Gunfire continued to rage unabated on the lush, well-tended acreage surrounding the mansion, now transformed into a killing field, violated by explosions and countless bullets, and fertilized with copious amounts of blood.

Alan glared at Desh. “Make no mistake,” he barked. “Whatever is happening outside, my men will handle it. And in just a few minutes I’ll be transformed and able to slip out of any noose.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Desh.

“Who are they?” demanded Alan. “Even if you suspected me, you couldn’t have set me up. You couldn’t possibly know where I live. And no one followed us here. I’m sure of it.”

“Wrong again, asshole,” hissed Desh. “Before we broke into Putnam’s house, I had a private conversation with my friend the colonel. I knew you would spot the RV. How could you not? I told him to take one of Kira’s pills at the first hint of trouble. I outlined how it would be possible to fake his own death.” Desh winked. “I’m sure you know that when you’re enhanced you can control your heart rate. Smear blood on your head, pretend to be dead, and don’t have a pulse when someone is checking for it. Presto, you’re declared dead.” Desh raised his eyebrows. “But to give credit where it’s due,” he continued. “I did get the idea of faking Connelly’s death from you, Alan.” He smiled mockingly. “Thanks.”

The veins in Alan Miller’s neck were standing out as his fury mounted. Desh knew his best bet was too keep him here until his team arrived, hoping against hope this would happen soon, before Kira’s treatment transformed her brother.

“Even though the colonel is injured,” continued Desh, “with his mind enhanced, it must have been easy for him to best your men at Putnam’s farm and free Metzger and Griffin. I told him to give a pill to the major and come after me.” Desh raised his eyebrows. “You see, I hid a homing device on myself that the colonel could use to track me. And your men were good enough to arrive at Putnam’s in military choppers so the major could borrow one. The colonel’s mind is now back to normal, no doubt. But just one Ross Metzger, enhanced, along with a military helicopter, is more than a match for your mercenaries.”

Instead of responding, Alan Miller appeared to be listening for gunfire. But after a deafening barrage that had seemed to go on forever, everything was now utterly silent. This seemed to totally unnerve him, and he shoved the gurney near the wall, dragging his sister along with it. He pulled out a gun and crouched behind his two prisoners, his back to the wall, using their bodies as shields.

“What’s the matter?” taunted Desh. “Not so sure of your mercenary force anymore?”

Before Desh completed his sentence, Connelly and Metzger entered the room. Metzger moved with the elegance of a ballet dancer and took in the scene with superhuman acuity.

Alan peered around his sister. “Take one step closer and I’ll kill them both,” he threatened.

Metzger looked bored. “Thanks. It will spare me the trouble,” he said.

Alan’s eyes narrowed and it was clear the wheels were turning in his head. “Look, Major,” he said amicably, “we can team up, you and I. Surely in the state you’re in now you can see the logic of this. Why hitch yourself to my sister’s wagon? I already have more power and money than God. Once we begin to leverage the secret of extended life, you and I will be the most powerful people on the planet.”

“Ross, please,” pleaded Kira Miller. “Kill him! Don’t worry about hitting me. He took a gellcap and he’ll be enhanced any second. This is your chance!” she insisted emphatically. “Remember what Matt said: the vast majority of your life will be lived as you were, unenhanced. And that Ross Metzger couldn’t live with himself if he teamed up with this psychopath.”

“Shut the fuck up, you bitch!” thundered Metzger.

Kira flinched and drew back from the fury of his words.

Metzger pulled the trigger and put a bullet cleanly between Alan Miller’s eyes. He slammed back against the wall and then fell forward, face first.

Kira gasped in shock. The shot had missed her by the thickness of a piece of paper.

No one moved. No one even breathed. All eyes were on Ross Metzger.

The major calmly lowered his gun. “Sorry about that, Kira,” he said matter-of-factly. “You were in the way of a clean shot. I calculated that if I shouted a curse at you, your head would twist just enough for me to kill him.”

Kira stared at him in bewilderment, her eyes blinking rapidly. She glanced at her brother on the floor and then turned her head to take in as much of her surroundings as she could. All was quiet.

Could it be? After all this time, was it now really over? It had happened so fast. Metzger’s actions had been so decisive; so final. The immense pressure that had been bearing down on her psyche for so long was so crushing that its sudden removal was surreal; disorienting. She took a deep breath and let the reality seep into the deep recesses of her consciousness: her interminable waking nightmare had truly ended. It had ended with a venomous curse, and a single shot delivered with superhuman accuracy. Several tears escaped from the corners of her eyes and raced down her cheeks.

The major turned to Desh. “David, while I am more ruthless than I was, I’m not like Griffin or you. It isn’t testosterone related. I believe I’ve come through the transformation with more of my soul intact even than Kira did the first time. I have some theories but you wouldn’t understand.” He paused; or had his simulacrum pause at any rate. “Kira, I’m sorry about your brother.”

Kira Miller took a long, hard look at the body lying on the floor and then firmly turned away, as if determined to close the book on this part of her life forever. She turned to Metzger and shook her head resolutely; only her eyes betraying her deep pain. “That’s not my brother,” she said bitterly, drying her tears with the back of her hand. “My brother died in a fire a year ago.”

The grounds were still smoking from the carnage that had taken place there, and the outside world was now eerily silent, as if even birds and insects had been cowed into silence by the bloodshed they had witnessed.

“I’ve got to hand it to you David,” said Kira appreciatively. “You’re certainly full of surprises.”

“Sorry about that,” he replied guiltily.

“Don’t be. I understand why you made the choices you did, and your plan was flawless.” Her gaze shifted to Connelly and Metzger. “Gentlemen, I can’t thank you enough.”

The colonel smiled warmly. “No need for thanks, Kira. We’re a team now, after all.”

“Judging from the past twenty-four hours,” said Desh, “we’re about as formidable a team as you could want.”

“Hard to argue with that,” said Connelly cheerfully. “But it does help that your alter ego had it all figured out ahead of time,” he said to Desh.

As Metzger freed the two prisoners and tore a piece of Alan’s shirt to wrap around Kira’s arm where the letter-opener had entered, Desh reflected on the enormity of all that had happened.

The colonel was right—for the most part. Desh’s enhanced mind had solved the puzzle. He had correctly guessed what had happened in Iran and why. He had guessed Alan Miller was behind it all, and that he had chosen Desh because he was someone whose integrity his sister would respond to, and who she would therefore attempt to recruit.

But ironically, even after having realized the nature of his own feelings for Kira, his enhanced self had completely missed that those feelings were reciprocated. A warm glow came over him at the thought, along with a smile that refused to leave his face.

Desh wished he could freeze this moment forever. He had never felt this way about a woman before. And never in his life had he felt so relieved. Or triumphant. Or hopeful.

They had done it! Against incredible odds they had prevailed.

They had been charging ahead at a dizzying pace; so busy fighting for their lives and struggling to peel back the onion it had seemed as if this state of affairs would never end: or would end, inevitably, with their deaths. But they had battled their way to victory, and in the process they had earned themselves a future. A future in which Kira’s discoveries could be harnessed to better mankind, rather than being used by a psychopath to become the most powerful and dangerous man in history.

Desh could only imagine the elation Kira must be feeling now that her long ordeal was finally over. She had faced these powerful, shadowy forces for an eternity longer than he had, and utterly alone.

Desh pulled himself from his reverie. He was now standing beside the steel gurney to which he had been strapped, and Metzger had just finished wrapping Kira’s arm. “Is Matt okay?” he asked.

“He’s fine,” said Connelly. “I gave him the keys to the RV and told him we’d meet up with him later at a location I gave him. After the fireworks at Putnam’s house, when I took out the men who were holding him and the major hostage, he didn’t look so hot.” Connelly smiled. “Not that we would have brought him on this little raid anyway,” he admitted.

“How are you doing, Colonel?” asked Kira in concern.

“Great,” he said happily. “Your treatment is unbelievable. I was able to direct my body’s autonomous functions and greatly accelerate the healing process.”

“I hate to spoil the party,” said Metzger soberly, “but we need to go. As isolated as this place is, we have to assume we attracted some attention. We need to lay low for a while. As soon as Matt is up to it, we can give him a gellcap and let him clean up behind us.”

Desh raised his eyebrows. “Can I assume you have a strategy in mind?”

“Of course,” said Metzger. “Step one: Enhanced Matt alters secure military databases to show that Alan Miller was in league with terrorists on an imminent attack. Step two: he plants secret orders, backdated to yesterday, calling on me to take out Miller using any means necessary.”

Desh was impressed with the simplicity but effectiveness of the plan. This would instantly legitimize Metzger’s appropriation of the helicopter from Bragg and the carnage at the mansion. “That should do it,” he said. “You’ll probably earn a medal.” Having a member of the team capable of subverting the most secure computer systems in the world did have its advantages.

“Kira,” said the major, “you and David stay here for a few minutes. The colonel and I will make certain we didn’t miss any hostiles and start the chopper.”

Connelly looked puzzled. “Shouldn’t we all leave right now?”

“They’ve been through a lot,” explained Metzger. “Let’s give them a few minutes alone.”

The colonel still looked confused, but didn’t argue.

Desh knew that Metzger was still in the thrall of Kira’s treatment, which meant he was undoubtedly focusing on ridiculously complex problems at the same time his avatar personality was speaking with them. And he must have also read their body language like a neon sign, picking up on their mutual infatuation and Desh’s desire to have a few minutes alone with Kira. He would have to remember to thank the major later.

Metzger turned back toward Desh as he and Connelly reached the front door. “You’re welcome,” he said knowingly, and then, guns drawn, both men cautiously exited the mansion.

The corners of Desh’s mouth turned up into a wry smile in response to Metzger’s words, but his smile quickly vanished as he made a visual inspection of Kira’s arm. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She smiled, almost bashfully. “Never better,” she said simply.

Desh paused awkwardly. “Kira,” he began. “About this whole being in love thing—” He looked at her uncertainly. “I feel a bit silly. I never believed it could happen so suddenly.”

She nodded. “Me either.”

“We’ve been through hell together,” he continued, “and we’ve bared our souls to each other. We know more about each other than couples who have been together for months.” He sighed. “What we don’t know is how we’ll be together when the pressure is off. So I was thinking—even if it might seem a bit ridiculous at this point in our relationship—maybe we should go on an old-fashioned, boring first date. No commandoes or adrenaline allowed.”

“A first date, huh,” said Kira, considering. “Not a bad idea.” She grinned and then added playfully, “But I should warn you, I don’t kiss until the third date.”

Desh laughed. “In that case,” he said, “I’m prepared to call our time together at Montag’s Gourmet Pizza a date.” He raised his eyebrows. “And you did take me to a motel and tie me to the headboard of a bed. Does that count?”

“Nope. I’m afraid not. Normally it would, but given that I brought you there in the trunk of a car, I have to disqualify it.”

“Okay, then. What about the nature hike we shared together?”

“We weren’t alone.”

“Damn,” said Desh. “Your definition of a date is awfully picky. You also took me to your place for the night, but since we weren’t alone then, either, I suppose you won’t count it.” Desh shook his head. “If I had known,” he added wryly, “I would have ditched the major and the colonel at the baseball stadium when we landed.”

Kira laughed and leaned closer to him, well within an inescapable gravity well that was impossible for either of them to resist, even had they wanted to. They kissed hungrily, and only the sure knowledge that they wouldn’t remain alone for long in what had become a war zone enabled them to, finally, separate.

Kira sighed dreamily. “I’ll tell you what,” she whispered with a contented smile. “I’m prepared to count our entire time together as the equivalent of two dates.”

“Two?” whispered a euphoric Desh, who felt as though he surely must be floating. “I thought you didn’t kiss ‘till the third.”

“That was just a sample,” she said.

“An incredibly effective one,” he said contentedly.

“Good. Because after we’ve showered and gotten some sleep, I’ll be ready for that third date. We can go out to dinner. I’m buying.”

“Really,” said Desh, amused. “That sounds like too good of a deal to pass up.”

“Well, you did bring Matt Griffin to the team. And he did just deposit half a billion dollars in my account. So I suppose I owe you a nice dinner.”

“A half billion dollars only gets me dinner?”

Kira flashed an incandescent smile. “That remains to be seen,” she said, her eyes dancing.

Desh grinned. There was a long silence as he gazed deeply into her eyes. As he did so, he couldn’t help but feel they were truly in love. But he knew this could well be an illusion. It could prove to be nothing more than a passing infatuation, catalyzed by their being thrown together in desperate circumstances and forced to fight for their lives side by side.

If only emotions were as simple as pure reason, he thought. But they weren’t. They were primal, and often incomprehensible.

But that’s what made emotion the most critical part of being human, Desh realized. If life could be reduced to the purely rational, to a solvable equation, there would be no mystery, no excitement. Life would become utterly predictable; a tedious movie that could never surprise. The truth was that neither he nor Kira, normal or enhanced, could know for sure if their feelings for each other would diminish or grow as time marched on.

Desh knew that Connelly and Metzger were waiting for them. “We’d better go,” he said softly, pulling his eyes away from Kira’s and nodding toward the oversized front door of the mansion. “Our chariot—and our future—await,” he added.

“Gallantly said,” noted Kira with a smile. She raised her eyebrows. “Any guesses as to what that future might hold?”

Desh shook his head. “Not a one,” he replied. “But I can tell you this,” he added happily. “I suddenly can’t wait to find out.”