Plot counterplot, p.37
Plot/Counterplot, page 37
Xavier grabbed Dylan by the collar and hauled him into the air. Dylan hung suspended like a rag doll. Xavier leered at him, then tossed him away. Dylan skidded across the floor till he collided with the targeting center, his head smashing into hard metal.
His eyelashes flickered. He was losing the fight. And losing consciousness.
Xavier hit him again. Blood spurted out of his mouth.
“We used you,” Xavier said. He spat into Dylan’s face. “You did what we wanted. You stole the Key. Now we are done with you.”
Behind them, Dylan heard a sound. Somehow, Seamus had pushed himself onto all fours. He was crawling forward, trying to get a clear shot.
“Now you die,” Xavier said—then something hard smashed into the side of his face.
Xavier fell backward. Dylan pushed himself to his knees, still holding the hydrogen fuel cell in his hands. The control panel could do without energy for a few minutes. He needed it.
Xavier tumbled backward, stumbling, trying to recover. Before he had a chance, Dylan hit him again in the face, this time even harder. His nose broke. Blood sprayed.
Dylan hit Xavier again. He lurched forward. He brought the metal canister down hard on the back of Xavier’s head. Xavier looked as if he were about to collapse. He raised the fuel cell again to deliver the final blow.
Xavier’s hand suddenly flew upward and blocked it. A second later, Xavier grabbed Dylan by the shoulders and head-butted him so hard Dylan fell back against the control panel. The fuel cell fell to the floor with a clatter.
Like cutting the head off a chicken, Dylan thought. This bastard just won’t stay down.
“Finished?” Xavier asked, rising to his feet, teeth coated with blood. “That all you have?”
* * *
Seamus had been shot before. More than once. But he was no longer a young field agent. The blow to the shoulder had knocked him to the ground and caused temporary disorientation. Brief unconsciousness. He had to fight his way back.
Dylan needs you, you tired old warhorse. Leilani needs you. You haven’t come all this way to fall apart now.
He mustered every ounce of strength left and pulled himself to his feet. He wasn’t sure how long it took, but he managed. A quick scan of the control room found Dylan locked in combat with Xavier. And Dylan was losing.
Seamus lurched toward them, toward the targeting panel. With each step, he felt more adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’d always found the muscle when he needed it. This would be no exception.
Xavier hovered over Dylan, about to deliver the death blow. In a split second, Seamus remembered what Dylan had whispered to him. Get him onto the metal plate. The plate was behind the targeting panel. How could he do it?
Bakersfield’s wife. His little girl. Both still unaccountably alive.
That was the solution.
“Dmitri,” Seamus shouted. His voice gurgled a bit, but he kept it steady. “Dmitri!”
Xavier jerked his head around. “That not my name.”
“I know. You change names every time you change masters. A big stupid brute like you can always find work.” He paused, just long enough. “Can’t keep a wife, though, can you?”
Xavier’s head shook. “You killed Evona. You killed my little Karissa.”
“They died because they had the misfortune to be with you.”
Xavier’s head whipped back and forth between Seamus and Dylan, trying to watch both.
“Did I tell you I watched them die, through the satellite link?” Seamus continued. “It was slow and painful. They suffered. They cried out, pleading for you to help them. But you were nowhere near. You let them down when they needed you most.” Xavier’s shoulders heaved. “Yeah, I killed them. And I enjoyed watching them die.”
Xavier bellowed and raced toward Seamus—stepping onto the metal plate. Seamus knew what was coming and knew he couldn’t stop it. He braced himself.
Xavier hit him so hard he literally flew into the air. When he thudded back to the floor, he skidded for ten feet. After that, he didn’t move at all.
* * *
Xavier was consumed with rage, crying out like a wild beast. “I will kill you both!” He whipped his head back toward Dylan. “I will start with you. You are finished.”
Dylan’s head throbbed. Xavier rushed him, grabbing him by the throat and pinning him down.
“You think you’re so goddamn smart.” Xavier pulled a knife out of his boot and pressed it against Dylan’s neck. “Bet you didn’t plan on this.”
“No. But I’ve learned how to improvise.” Dylan dug into his pocket for the only item that still remained to him. Dobie’s fountain pen. He jabbed it nib-first into Xavier’s neck. “The pen is mightier than the sword, you bastard.”
Xavier screamed. He staggered away, clutching at it. He eventually got it out. Blood spewed.
And yet, he did not go down. He stood on the metal plate. Smiling.
Dylan swore. Damn that steroid-infused homunculus.
Xavier grinned, his face covered with blood. “That all you got? You finished?”
“I am...just getting started,” Dylan said, leaning against the targeting panel. He returned the fuel cell to its housing station. “I’ve been playing with you, you grunting Goliath.” He pulled out his taser.
“You do not scare me, Dylan.”
“That’s been your mistake all along.”
“I have been tasered before. It will not stop me.”
“You might be surprised. Remember my request for rubber-soled shoes?”
“Wimp. Afraid of power surge.”
“Didn’t you wonder why I needed the highest-powered taser?”
Xavier spat blood onto the floor. “You wanted to stop opposition without killing. Because you are weak.”
“That anti-radiation spray?”
“More of same.”
“Did you really think there’s such a thing as anti-radiation spray? And you called me stupid.”
“But—”
“What I sprayed you with is methyl isobutyl ketone, easily made from the chemicals Mr. X provided. And easily ignited by a taser.”
Xavier’s eyes widened. “I—I know all your ideas. I’ve read plan many times.”
“A good writer knows how to plant clues so they’re in plain sight—but the reader misses their importance. And you’re standing on a metal surface, you highly flammable son-of-a-bitch.” Dylan touched the taser to the floor and stared into Xavier’s eyes. “Burn.”
A second later, Xavier burst into flames.
Xavier ran, screaming, his entire body engulfed in fire. The smell of burned clothing and flesh permeated the room. He made it to the wheel but hadn’t the strength to open the door. He collapsed on the floor, smoldering, crying out in pain. A few moments later, he stopped moving.
Dylan made a mental note to recover the detonator in Xavier’s pocket as soon as it cooled off. He still had a few minutes left before the nanites consumed his brain.
Seamus hobbled toward him. “Christ, Dylan. I am so glad I’m not your enemy.”
“Thanks for luring him onto the plate.”
“My pleasure.”
“How badly are you hurt?”
“I’ll live.” He didn’t look good. His shirt was covered with blood. “Give me my attaché. I’ve got a blood clotter. Bandages. And a stim. I’ll make it.”
Dylan brought the case to him. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”
“No, I’ve got to buy you time to dismantle this weapon. I can hear Xavier’s men outside. They’ll break through that slab eventually.
Dylan knew it was true. He’d seen a bazooka on the copter capable of doing the job.
“I’ll go back the way I came,” Seamus grunted. “Create a diversion.”
“You’ll never make it in your condition.”
“The hell I won’t. I’ve been shot much worse. I’ll be fine.” He spent about a minute bandaging and treating himself. “Here, you keep the gun. You might need it.”
Dylan took the weapon.
“See you on the other side.” Seamus hobbled to the back door and disappeared.
Dylan returned to the control panel. The targeting computer started rebooting when he reinserted the fuel cell. In just a few minutes, it would be ready.
He heard something.
He stopped, then slowly turned.
Mr. X stood directly behind him. With a gun pointed toward his head.
Chapter 82
Dylan wasn’t disturbed nearly as much by the gun as he was by the fact that Mr. X was smiling.
“Drop your gun and kick it away,” she said. He reluctantly complied. “Don’t bother trying to lure me onto that plate. Toss away the taser.”
Dylan did. “How did you get in?”
“I was here before you. Sneaked past the guards during the shootout.”
“Why didn’t you stop me from killing Xavier?”
“Because I don’t need him. He’s been a loose cannon ever since he destroyed the Cartwright Institute. He’s questioned my authority twice in front of others. It was time for him to go. Thank you for taking care of that.”
Dylan bit down on his lower lip. “Happy to be of service.”
“You’ve given me everything I needed, Dylan. Now I’m going to kill you. That’s been our plan from the very start.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad this isn’t catching you by surprise.” She raised her gun.
“You’re not going to kill me.”
“I’m fairly certain that I am.”
“In fact, you’re going to help me shut this project down once and for all.”
She laughed, a surprisingly shrill, high-pitched twitter. Dylan realized this was the first time he’d heard her laugh.
“For all your foolish mind games, Dylan, you’ve learned nothing about me at all, have you?”
“I think I have,” he said, taking a tentative step forward. “That’s what you’ve never understood, this whole time. Took me a while to get it, too. You kidnapped me because you thought I had a gift for ingenious plots. But a novelist has to know more than plot. He has to understand characters.” He took another step forward. “And that’s what I’ve been doing all along. Understanding you.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“I understand why you’re doing this. Why you’re so devoted to the Supervisor.”
“You have no idea who the Supervisor is.”
“I do,” Dylan said, looking at her levelly. “And I know who you really are, too.”
* * *
Normally, coming down the mountain would be considerably easier than going up. But less so when a bullet had recently pierced your shoulder. Didn’t matter. Seamus clenched his teeth and got the job done.
The soldiers, the ones who were still alive, hovered in or around the elevator shaft. Seamus thought they were lowering someone down, maybe more than one. He knew that, given enough time, they would all go down, and then they would blow the door and kill Dylan. He had to prevent that from happening. So he had to move quickly, pain or no pain.
Inside the assault copter, he found a treasure trove of weapons. He knew the soldiers were well armed, but they’d left enough behind to arm another platoon. Guess they weren’t taking any chances.
Good thing he knew how to use all these high-tech arms.
Good thing he knew how to fly a copter, too.
Seamus smiled. If there weren’t so many lives on the line, this might actually be fun.
* * *
Leilani was halfway over the fence before she stopped.
Seamus had disappeared.
Good. She didn’t want to be a burden or to prevent him from doing what he did best. She understood he was trying to keep her safe. But she’d come too far to retreat. If Seamus hauled Dylan out of there, she was going to be the first to see him. She wanted to wrap herself around him and—
“Excuse me, Ms. Kahale.”
Leilani whirled around. Her eyes bulged. “You!”
“Yes. Good to finally meet you.”
“But—what—what are you doing here?”
“I’ve asked myself the same question. I don’t normally like to make personal appearances. But something has gone wrong inside, so it seems I have no choice.”
“But—why you?”
“Don’t you know? I’m the Supervisor.”
Leilani didn’t even know what that meant. But a chill trickled down her spine, just the same. “Does that mean—you’re behind this whole operation?”
“That’s what it means.” There was a blur of movement, and Leilani saw light glint off the barrel of a pistol. “And you’re now critical to the success of the whole operation.”
Chapter 83
Mr. X shook her head, apparently amused. “I’m sure you could lead me on a merry mental chase, Dylan. But I don’t have the time.”
“Here’s something I learned from my father,” Dylan said, ignoring her. “Something he told me after a tough day on the playground: bullies all suffer from low self-esteem. As an adult, I learned that the biggest book snobs are always the least well-read. It’s about insecurity. So I asked myself the question: What caused you to do horrible things to people? Why do you feel such a compelling need to dominate? And how could this cold-hearted woman give such a convincing performance as Dr. Scheimer’s wife?”
Mr. X seemed to ignore him. “The Supervisor will be here soon. And he will expect me to have this weapon fully operational.”
“The weapon is operational. All it needs is more warm-up time and the coordinates from your laptop. I assume you brought it with you.”
“I did.”
“The question, then, is whether you want to complete this plan.” He paused. “Fiona.”
Her head jerked upward. The smile faded. “Why did you call me that?”
“Because it’s your real name. Fiona McKellan. Right?”
She glared at him. “How can you possibly—”
“Did a little Internet research while I was at PACOM. Didn’t take long. I knew what I was looking for. I already had most of it figured out. Just needed to fill in some blanks. I didn’t believe the one about the boyfriend who blew himself to smithereens, either. Too pat, too much like something a novelist would invent for a minor character, cheap transformational backstory. That’s why you thought I’d buy it. But I didn’t. You didn’t lose your IRA boyfriend, because you were never in the IRA. In fact, you’re not even Irish.”
“Have you gone balmy?”
“You do a decent brogue, but there were many times you used American terms when an Irish citizen would’ve said something different. You didn’t grow up in Dublin. You tried to invent a glamorous background far different from your prosaic past. You were raised in Dubuque, Iowa.”
She looked at him coldly.
“You traveled to Ireland after your undistinguished college career as a finance major. You tried to get into the IRA, but they wouldn’t have you. And you weren’t motivated by politics. You were in love with an Irish IRA lad. Kenneth Burke. But he wasn’t interested in you, no matter what you did, no matter what you offered. Probably slept with you a few times, but not many, because he just didn’t care enough. Why would he? He was a terrorist trying to bring justice to his people. You were a bean counter with a plain face and a hick accent.”
“Lies. All lies.”
“You were never a terrorist. You were more like a wannabe. A stalker.”
Her gun arm trembled. “Liar.”
“When you pretended to be Scheimer’s wife, you were playing the role you had imagined so many times. A woman who was loved just as much as she loved.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“After the IRA plan flopped, you decided to reinvent yourself. Create a new persona. You came to Hawaii, far from anywhere there might be someone who could expose your lies. You learned the brogue. You learned the terrorist trade. You looked for work, not because you wanted money, but because at some base pathetic level, you thought if you could make yourself look like a terrorist, then Kenneth would love you. Or be sorry he hadn’t.”
“I will shoot you where you stand,” she said through clenched teeth. But she didn’t fire.
“You got into the drug trade. Not exactly terrorism, but at least it was criminal. Had a few arrests, then tragedy struck. You were caught in a fire when a weed farm ignited, horribly scarring your face. You didn’t care. That just made you look the part you’d imagined for yourself. All this drew you to the attention of the Supervisor. A real terrorist, or at least someone with terrorist plans. As soon as you met him, you transferred all your unrequited love for Kenneth to him. You would do anything for him. And you did.”
Mr. X thrust the gun forward. “I’m sick of your games. Stop it!”
“I’m not finished, Fiona.”
“My name is Kayleigh. Kayleigh McKenna!”
“I can see why you were attracted to the Supervisor. He’s just like your Irish lost love. They’re both visionaries, after all. Want to make the world a better place. Unfortunately, they both believe violence is an acceptable means to accomplish their goals. With the Supervisor, for the first time ever, you felt that someone cared about you. That you were loved. Even better—that someone thought you were important. So you would follow him anywhere. You would do anything he asked.”
Her gun arm sagged.
“I don’t blame you,” Dylan added. “But there’s a problem, Fiona. Love is dangerous. It makes you vulnerable. And the fact is—the Supervisor doesn’t love you. He’s using you. Just like you’ve used me. And when he’s done with you, he’s going to kill you. Just as you plan to kill me. Just as he’s killed everyone who’s played a role in his schemes when he was done with them.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. The brogue was gone. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“Did he tell you weakness is cowardice?”
Her neck stiffened. She didn’t have to answer.
