Cloud Rebel: R-D 3 (20 page)

"Bloody hell," I cursed as I stood. "Fucking, bloody hell."

Chapter 12

Corinne

I told them they should let me see the body. The answer was no. At least they wouldn't have been punched in the stomach with the news that a heart-attack inducing drug had been administered to Madam President, or that fingers were now pointing at Graye Sanders, if they had.

"I think this was their plan," Matt muttered as President Granville and I walked into the meeting room at the hospital. "She only had a year left during this term, so of course they're going to put someone forward who'll promise the country whatever it takes to get elected."

"And that someone will either be a Phillips clone or someone else with a Phillips clone's hand up his ass," I huffed.

"Dearest, remain calm," Val appeared from nowhere.

"So they're looking to discredit me however they can," the President said, sitting heavily on a chair and pulling it toward the standard, rectangular, brown, faux-wood meeting table.

"It looks that way," Matt agreed. "Whether it's foreign policy or some other, domestic debacle of their creation, they'll be aiming in your direction."

"When did elections become all-out wars?" Auggie asked. "Not just political, but physical, too?"

Nobody replied.

"What evidence do they have against Graye?" Granville asked.

"Nothing yet, but the timing, according to the forensic pathologists who've calculated the drug's path through her system, says the only person who had access to her at the proper time would be Graye-while they were alone in the bedroom. FBI is combing through the residence now, looking for proof."

Val squeezed my hand and led me to the table, where we both sat. He didn't want me to explode again, and I wanted to. I wanted to yell at Auggie and Granville both, for not allowing me the time or giving me permission to see Madam President's body.

"You know what," I stood and snapped at both of them. "Nefrigar is right. I don't answer to either of you." I disappeared before Val could stop me. My destination was the autopsy lab, and I appeared there while shielding myself from those present.

Yes, I felt ill at the sight of her body lying open on a table, but I could see her face below the opened skull.

I saw her final moments as Graye bent over her. The word
why
was on her lips as she died.

I needed to see Graye Sanders, and I needed to see him immediately. Somehow, I understood that the task could prove impossible-if my suspicions were correct, he was already dead.

* * *

"The note was found in his bedroom," the Phillips clone said during the interview. The President, just like the rest of us, was learning of Graye Sanders' death through an interview on the news instead of from more official sources.

"We have a copy of the note," the journalist claimed. "The original has been turned over to the FBI."

"When?" Granville exploded. "I've gotten no word of that."

"Sir," a Secret Service agent stepped to the President's side and handed a cell phone to him. "FBI Director on the line."

"Right." Granville rose and walked into the hall to answer.

The rest of us, along with the entire country, were exposed to the suicide note at the same time, in which Graye Sanders admitted killing his wife because, in his words, she'd told him she wanted a divorce after her term was up.

"I had no idea he had a gun," the Phillips clone wiped imaginary tears away. "No idea."

"Coming up next, we have two psychologists who deal with suicidal patients, and the Director of the National Suicide Hotline," the female journalist declared.

"Fuck," I muttered.

"Cabbage?"

Ilya had come. He sat on one side while Val had the other.

"I'm okay," I held up a hand. "I've already had one screaming fit today. I can put this one off until tomorrow."

"We must speak with Bekzi later," Val said. "Your Ilya must come, too."

"This doesn't sound good." I leaned back with a sigh and closed my eyes. "Make it go away," I whispered.

"Dearest, I cannot," Val said softly.

* * *

Former President Phillips' home

Alexandria, Virginia

"At least the snoopers are gone, now," the one posing as President Phillips sighed. "They looked through everything. We left nothing to chance-all will be as it appears, that Graye Sanders took his own life. I also appreciate your arrival on such short notice."

"It is nothing-you know I will support you no matter what," the Merle Askins clone nodded. "I am available to you at any time-you must understand this."

"I'm beginning to see that, but I worry that I rely on you too much."

"I feel we will have need of our slave," Askins jerked his head toward the wizard in the corner. "I wish we had more like him, but that will not be, I fear."

"Why can't we have others? I have been informed of the drug's use. I know how you brought me back from death, now."

"It must be the blood of an original survivor," Askins insisted. "We have taken this one's blood many times, and it does nothing." He jerked his head toward the captive wizard, who sat at a corner table, his hands shackled firmly to its steel surface.

"We keep attempting to find the original. He eludes us, as does his daughter and her husband. Our men failed to get information from Sergei while they had him-and he disappeared after his rescue. We imagined that tracking his friends would lead us to him, or at least bring him to investigate their deaths, but that effort has proven fruitless. What do you suggest we do now?"

"Are you sure there is no more blood to be had from the original?" the Phillips clone asked, his expression thoughtful.

"I am sure. There was precious little of it in the beginning. When Becker escaped, he brought what he could with him. The rest was destroyed with the mansion. I wish we had
her
blood," Askins said. He'd read all the notes concerning Corinne Watson. Before her death, she'd performed near-miracles.

"It was destroyed inadvertently, when they thought her worthless," Phillips snorted. "According to Becker, before his death. I've read the reports, too, if you remember."

"We learned never to send all our clones against an enemy at the same time," Askins noted. "The Becker clones are all dead, just like the original."

"I hear there is no available information as to who cleared out the Nevada facility. I hoped to find at least a few grains of the drug. Nothing remains. Both our caches were destroyed. If any exists, the Americans have it."

"Too bad Farrell is dead. He likely had some hidden for his own experiments."

"And as a result of his death, we may never find it."

"My question is this-why has the original not displayed any of the talents of our wizard?"

"My guess is that whatever prevents the manifestation of talent in the original may have been voided when this one suffered a blow to the head shortly after receiving the blood. He was quite combative, you understand. He is a docile slave, now, thanks to our intervention."

"Surely we could remove the chains?"

"We will take no chances with this one. He is too important, and the one whose blood he received-he can kill with only his hands."

"Ah. We will keep him chained, then."

* * *

Corinne

Bekzi didn't come to us-we went to him. I really didn't want to go back to Canada, mostly because Finch and Farrell were there, but Val thought it necessary, so there we went.

Neither Finch nor Farrell liked it that they were locked out of the meeting between us and Bekzi, but I really didn't care how either of them felt. Val studied Finch as he complained, but said nothing.

In my opinion, Finch had either been born without tact, or sold what little he had through an online auction service. Either way, he didn't possess that necessary ingredient and it showed.

Nathan shook his head behind Finch before leaving the room. I sent mindspeech to him when he left, telling him to hide for the next half hour. If he didn't, he'd be hearing all of Finch's current complaints, most of which centered on aliens and their secrets.

Once the study door was closed and Val placed a shield about the room, Bekzi began. To say that I was shocked and dismayed by his theory would be putting things in terms too mild for contemplation.

"I'm going to kill Farrell, and then go back and spit on Becker's body," I snapped when Bekzi laid out his hypothesis that there was at least one more Ilya somewhere.

Ilya, his face stony, listened carefully to everything Bekzi had to say.

"With warlock and Sirenali, they have transportation and shield," Bekzi said.

"But warlocks have to have their talent awakened," Val began.

"Look-your archives," Bekzi said. "At least three in past, have brain damage. Out pops ability. Two-murderers. One-she make dolls. Scare children. Adults, too."

"All three are long dead," Nefrigar appeared in our midst. It was obvious that Val had either sent information or allowed his father to see and hear through his senses.

"Here's my thinking-if they had him tied down, and they probably did," I began slowly, "the Ilya I know would have woke fighting. If somebody bludgeoned him to keep him from getting away," I shrugged.

"Then that explains how some of them may have evaded the army of Lyristolyi sent to kill them," Val agreed. "He knows how to fold space, now. No telling what else he knows."

"And it's likely that he's obsessed, on top of everything else. My question is this," I said. "How much power does he actually have?"

"There is a way to find out," Nefrigar said. "But it will require opening this one's power to find the level of potential."

"I don't want," Ilya began.

"It matters not what you want," a man appeared as if he'd been called. I blinked at him. I'd read about him in the Archives. Erland Morphis, father of Rylend Morphis, King of Karathia in the future, had arrived.

"Don't worry, it's not painful, or even scary, although I've known six-year-olds who've lost their breakfast because the older ones told them frightening stories," Erland smiled.

He was perhaps the handsomest man I'd ever met. To me, however, Ilya would always be my ideal.

"Cabbage?" Ilya turned to me.

"Honey, we need to know, and this will allow you to be who you were meant to be."

"Then do it," Ilya jerked his head at Erland.

"I have to put my hands on your head," Erland cautioned.

* * *

Ilya

"Fifth-level capability," the one called Erland sighed and took the offered seat at the kitchen island.

"What does that mean?" I didn't attempt to cover my accent.

"It means you can kick ass after your training," Erland said. "Most can do basic things after their power is awakened, but most six-year-olds don't have the focus the older students do. You, on the other hand," he shook his head. "I think your middle names should be focus and control."

"What are the levels, then, so I may make a comparison?"

"First is weakest, Fifth is strongest. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes."

"You don't sound pleased."

"I am most displeased that there may be a clone of me with the same power I hold," I said. "One who is obsessed-perhaps more so than I am."

"Very true," Erland dipped his head in a nod. "At least he's on someone's chain and likely to use his abilities on command, rather than going wild and causing random destruction."

"That's a rather horrible thing to say," Corinne interrupted. "Somewhere, there is a victim who is being coerced in the worst way possible."

"I understand," Erland held up a hand. "I fear for innocent lives if he isn't coerced. I imagine he is damaged in some way and no longer holds perfect reasoning. He only knows pain, if my calculations are correct. An animal in pain is a dangerous one. Would you not agree?"

"How does an obsession work with someone who is brain damaged?" Corinne turned to Nefrigar.

"Lord Morphis is correct in one respect," Nefrigar sighed. "If the damage created is not repaired, the farther this individual could sink toward his basic, instinctual level. Obsessions cannot be placed upon animals. They fail to take hold."

"So we may be working against the clock-to find this one before he goes completely mad," I muttered.

"Finding him would be best," Erland agreed. "His death should be swift-and as merciful as you can make it."

"Do we have information on his whereabouts?" Corinne asked. "And is there any other option?"

"None," Nefrigar replied.

* * *

Corinne

Somewhere, hidden by the ass-hats who used to be in charge of the American government, was a brain-damaged Ilya who could and probably would perform any misdeeds directed by his less than ethical masters.

I understood that the one acting as former President Phillips was a powerful Sirenali directing his warlock puppet. Anything could come from that unholy alliance, whether the Ilya clone intended it or not.