Face Off (26 page)

They ran for the door, Laura’s hardened body shield expanding around them. As they made the outside corridor, the room erupted. The door blew off, slamming into the shield. Laura stumbled against Sinclair. They hit the wall and fell. Another explosion went off somewhere above them, and the lights flickered.

“Go! Ghost out of here. I’ll get Whiting out,” Sinclair shouted.

She shoved him forward, almost knocking him to the ground again. “Keep moving. You don’t have a shield.”

Explosions rocked the end of the corridor as they reached the stairs. Laura swayed under the pressure, dizziness threatening to overwhelm her as the force of the concussion destabilized her shield. Sinclair stumbled on a step, and they fell again. With Whiting draped over his shoulder like a rag doll, he wrapped his arm around Laura as she struggled to get her feet under her. Debris rained down, bouncing off her body shield. The strain of covering all three of them without an external essence source drained her. Black and red spots flashed in her vision as she fought to remain conscious.

Sinclair dragged her down the crumbling upper hall. An explosion on the main floor sent them airborne. They burst through the door, arcing into the air. Laura’s shield shredded as she hit the ground.

CHAPTER 47

LAURA WRENCHED HERSELF
up into a sitting position, several yards from the burning building. Dazed, she watched as her hands shifted in shape, a brief flutter as the depleted essence in her necklace struggled to maintain the Mariel glamour. Dropping her hands to either side, she drew on the essence in the ground, pulling it in to replenish some of what she had lost. She let her head fall back a moment as the renewed energy surged through her, and the glamour stabilized.

Ian Whiting lay nearby, on his back, unconscious. He appeared dead, his skin leached white, but his signature registered a faint film of yellow light around his body. The boost Laura had given him in the lab had been enough to jump-start his body signature.

Sinclair staggered into her field of vision, his uniform torn and singed. He leaned over Whiting as she shuffled on her knees next to them. “Is he okay?”

Sinclair leaned back on his heals. “I think he got hit with debris. Are you okay?”

Laura pulled her hair back and retied it. “A little rattled, but I’m fine. We need Whiting awake.”

She leaned over Whiting and scanned his body signature. She didn’t have healing skills, but from what she saw, he wasn’t damaged, only drained. He needed rest to replenish what he needed, but she could infuse him with a temporary boost like she had given herself. With one hand on his chest and the other on the ground, she tapped into the organic essence of the soil. The essence flowed through her and into Whiting, using her body as a conduit. It wasn’t healing precisely, but enough to jump-start his own essence regeneration. Whiting’s chest heaved as his body reacted to the influx. Laura eased him to his side as he started to retch.

She waited until he caught his breath. “Do you know who you are? Can you tell me your name?”

“Ian Whiting,” he rasped.

He could hear. He could think. “Mr. Whiting, I’m Mariel Tate with InterSec. What happened here?”

Dazed, he stared at the fire. “Was I in that?”

She helped him sit up. “Where’s Cress?”

“She tried to kill me,” he said.

“Well, she didn’t. Where is she?” Laura asked.

Now that he was awake, he pulled more essence on his own. He shook his head. “She was in the pod.”

Laura exchanged glances with Sinclair. “The pod? Is that what was in the crèche?”

Whiting got to his feet. “When I activated the final sequence, they ordered Cress to kill me.”

“Sequence for what? What the hell are you talking about?” Laura asked.

He stared into the distance. “We have to stop her.”

Laura shook him by the shoulders. “Focus, Whiting. What the hell was going on here?”

Instinctively, he activated his body shield. Rather than struggle with him, Laura let go. “We need a healer, Jono.”

Whiting held up his hand. “No, I’m fine. Give me another moment. My head is clearing.”

While she waited for him to compose himself, sendings from the rest of the team flowed in. Buildings all over the compound had been rigged with explosives and were now in flames. The few Legacy staff remaining had escaped on boats on the river side of the site. The fighting had been a distraction until the bombs went off.

Still confused, Whiting’s eyes alternately cleared and glazed over a few times. “We have to get to Washington.”

Laura stared at him. “What was going on here?”

Whiting rubbed a hand against his temple. “They stole my research on Cress and made an amplifier for her abilities. Amazing work, actually. I hadn’t thought through the implications.”

“Implications for what?” asked Sinclair.

Whiting tilted his head up. “I proposed the crèche as a way to dampen the cravings Cress had for essence. These people inverted my design. They created a pod for Cress’s body and the helmets to expand her abilities. They’re using her as a weapon to deactivate essence. The fey will be helpless against them.”

“Cress would not have agreed to this,” Laura said.

Whiting’s face became troubled. “She didn’t. I created a ward on the pod that suppressed her consciousness. It’s slaved to a control helmet. A man named DeWinter has it.”

Laura swore. “I should have blown his head off in the limo.”

“Hel, that explains it,” Sinclair said.

“What?” she asked.

“When I wore the helmet during training, I kept making moves and decisions that surprised me,” he said.

Whiting’s face was becoming animated. “It worked, then. I’d wondered how successful it would be. The crèche is a ward generator. The modules on the sides synchronize the helmets to the pod. The stone embedded in the back of the helmet is an impulse conductor. Put the two together, and anyone who wears a helmet is under your direct control.”

Laura interrupted him. “You said we have to get to Washington.”

Whiting became subdued as he remembered something. “They’re going to attack the fey leadership. I don’t know the details.”

Laura met Sinclair’s gaze. “Draigen’s reception. She’s been a target since she arrived, and the entire fey leadership is there right now. “

Sinclair sighed. “Why did I know this would end up about Terryn?”

Laura frowned. “Terryn’s not the point, and you know it.”

“They’ll need a granite-based structure to create an essence-dampening field,” Whiting said.

Sinclair shook his head in feigned annoyance. “Gee, how will we ever find a granite structure in D.C.?”

CHAPTER 48

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

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

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

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

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

Excuse me?
Laura sent.

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

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

Not at all. It’s brilliant,
he sent.

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

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

Is that possible?
he asked.

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

How big a field will it generate?
Laura asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Blackhawk?” Laura interrupted.

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

“Are you serious?” Sinclair asked, dumbfounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Convenient,” said Sinclair.