Omega (2 page)

The woman reappeared over him, the submachine gun barrel pointed right into his eyes. At this range, there was no dodging, only pain, and if the shot were true, certain death. “Looks like you got me,” he conceded, “so what are you gonna do? Shoot me here?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” came the voice, softer than he would have predicted. He blinked as her hand tugged at the mask and it came up to reveal soft, pale features, complexion slightly freckled, then came off the top of her head to allow long brown hair to flow down.

He let out a sigh, this time of annoyance. “Sienna Nealon.”

“James Fries,” she said with a smile, returning her hand to the forward grip of the gun. “It would be my very great pleasure if you would try and resist again.” There was a gleam
in her eyes that he saw as she reached over and unlocked the door. It cracked open to admit the others from the hallway—Davis, Hannegan, Forrest and Byerly. “Extraction on the roof in five,” she said, and smiled down at him again, taking a pair of glistening handcuffs off her belt. “You can either put these on and walk or refuse and be carried.” Her smile turned sweetly devastating. “Personally, I’m rooting for the refuse—and—be—carried option, because I get to be the one that beats you into submission.”

The Black Hawk helicopter took off from the top of the building, unnoticed by nearly everyone downtown. A few heads swiveled as the sound of the chopper blades drew their attention, but they quickly went back to walking their paths, filing along the sidewalks. All but one.

A gray—haired man with a long face watched, his eyes tracing the flight path of the Black Hawk as it cut across the sky and out of sight behind the Wells Fargo tower. His face was wrinkled, his height merely average, and he wore a dark trench coat that looked only slightly out of place on a Minneapolis street in fall. His brown eyes were sunken into sockets that gave him a somewhat emaciated look, but there was intelligence in them, hiding behind the decrepit facade. When the helicopter disappeared from sight, his withered hand reached into the pocket of his trench coat and reappeared after a moment’s search with a smart phone.

He stared at the brightly lit display that took up the whole front, so different from the first models he still remembered with fondness, the wall—mounted black behemoths that you cranked. He missed the operator, the voice on the other end that you could reach without even pressing a button. With a sigh, he touched the power button, causing the screen to flare to life. He pressed it twice more, and felt the wind pick up around him. “Call home,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that,” the phone replied, the soft, feminine computer voice almost lost in the roar of the wind.

“Call...HOME,” he said again, his voice cracking, thickly accented.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Oh, to the dark world with you,” the man replied, and thumbed the contacts button. Scrolling through the names on the list, he searched for the one he was looking for, then pushed it with his bony index finger and held it up to his ear. The digital ringing sound was loud.
Technology
, he thought,
equal parts triumph and terror—miracle when it works correctly, horror when it doesn’t
.

A woman answered at the other end of the line, with an unmistakable British accent. “Federated Exchange.”

“Ah, yes, this is—” He froze, dredging his memory for the code name given him before he had left headquarters. “Uh...just a moment, I’m trying to remember my—”

“Yes, may I help you?” the accented voice lilted.

“Yes, I need to speak with, uh...I forget his code name. Put me through to—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the voice came back over the line. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, hell, this is—wait.” He closed his eyes and tried to recall, then stomped his feet to try to stay warm as the chill wind funneled its way down the street between the buildings like a thousand icy needles hitting him in the face. “Oh, yes—this is Portal, calling for...uh...Alastor.” He waited, listening for any sound on the other end of the phone, wondering if his hearing was failing him.

“I’ll put you through straight away, sir. Thank you for calling.”

“Alastor.” The voice at the other end of the line was an ocean away, but he sounded as though he was right there, speaking into the old man’s ear.

“This is Portal,” the old man said. “I am in Minneapolis, and I just concluded a meeting with—” He hesitated, trying to remember Fries’ codename, and felt the warm bloom of anger within. “Damn it all, I’m too old for this cloak and dagger business. I just met with Fries. He’s been taken by the Directorate. I just saw their helicopter lift off from the top of his building.”

“Has he now?” There was not even a pause on the other end of the line before the answer came. “Much sooner than anticipated, but unsurprising. Operation Stanchion will proceed as planned. You are prepared?”

The old man felt the tug of warmth within, the burning of a fire that had been with him all his life. “Ready enough. My pieces are moving into place.”

A chuckle could be heard on the other end of the phone. “They thought we declared war on them months ago, these upstarts, this Directorate. They have no idea what war looks like, not most of them—none save for the
Jotun
.”

“He is old,” Portal said, feeling the shudder of the harsh Midwest autumn run through him. “Even compared to us, and he grows weaker since Peshtigo—”

“Yes,” the voice came again. One of his oldest friends; the words came clearly, as though he were in the same room.
Miracle now, terror later, this technology
, he thought. “Do not forget, Operation Stanchion has but one purpose—and lest you forget, in the midst of all that must happen—”

“I will not forget,” the older man replied, feeling the chill mingle with the excitement flowing through him. “The purpose of Omega is clear and has been since the days of old. I have not lost sight of it even if some of our own have. I will hold to Stanchion, to the plan I outlined for you—though,” he said with a chuckle, “I may occasionally forget the code words for the operation. I am, after all, somewhat older than most of your current advisors, and have little taste for the intricacies of their so-called ‘black’ operations.”

“I believe that is an outdated term,” the voice came from the other end of the phone.

“So is the concept of gods who rule the world,” the man who was codenamed Portal replied. “But that doesn’t make it any less accurate.”

“True enough. True enough. Take care, my friend. Take care of yourself-and our prize.”

“Oh, I will.” He let the smile tug at the corners of his lips, feeling the odd, drawn feeling from them as they began to chap from the wind. “I will ensure that Sienna Nealon will be ours.”

“Good enough,” the voice came again. “Until we meet again. Alastor out.”

The old man heard the click through the speaker of the phone, and kept it up to his ear for a moment longer. “So long, old friend. I’ll be home before you know it—with our prize.”

“Let me do an internet search for chili cheese fries,” a metallic, tinny voice blared from the speaker of his phone.

“What?” He held it up in front of him, staring blankly at the screen, which was lit up with a series of text bubbles. “No, I don’t want you to do an internet search. And where did you come up with chili cheese fries?”

“Searching for a chili cheese fries app.”

“What?” He stared at the screen, felt the confusion rise with embarrassment as a couple of teenagers brushed past him. He glanced up and saw one of them, a boy, looking at him, laughing. “Oh, shut up,” he said, fumbling to push a button on the touchscreen with his fingers encased in a glove.

“Movie shopper—opening movie ticket app—”

He fumbled and pressed the power button, watching as the screen went dark. “Damnable thing.”

“Let me do an internet search for a song to sing—”

He grumbled with irritation and pressed the button again, as the screen went black once more and the voice of the computer went quiet. His eyes came up again, back to Fries’ building. “Stanchion. Oh, yes, Directorate, you will see. And Sienna Nealon, you’ll be with us soon...whether you want to or not.”

There was a moment’s pause, then a muffled voice came from within his hand. “Let me do an internet search for bookstore oh yes director tools see you soon the new be us in—”

With a grunt of rage, he pitched the phone against the wall and watched it shatter into a cloud of plastic dust. He felt some of the debris sprinkle across his face, then shook his head at the momentary loss of temper and looked around. No one was paying attention to him. He sighed. “Now I’ll have to buy another one. And doubtless it will work just as well as this one...” His eyes went back to the roof of Fries’ building and the place that the helicopter’s flight path had taken it only moments before. “No matter. Soon she’ll be with us.” He felt the smile return to his lips, revealing his teeth, exposing them to the cold
.

“Soon.”

2.

Sienna Nealon

The helicopter ride was smooth, surprisingly so for such a blustery day. It was my first autumn out in the world, out of my house, and I liked it better than summer and winter so far, but not as much as spring. The city of Minneapolis was fading behind us, the tall buildings and the skyline still a scene of mystery and excitement for me, even though I had been there more times than I could count now.

James Fries sat across from me, unspeaking. Of course, he had duct tape across his mouth and a black hood over his head, but I suspect even if he hadn’t been so afflicted, he would have been smart enough to keep his mouth shut around me. It had been only about three months since he’d seduced me, using the fact that he was the only person I’d ever met whom I could safely touch to parlay himself
into a romantic situation. It was not a shining moment in my memory. It left me with a few simmering resentments and a mess of regrets. Staring at him now, face hidden behind the hood, I liked to imagine that he might have felt a regret or two as well. You know, behind the duct tape.

The helicopter began its descent over the Directorate campus, the headquarters building with its white concrete and glass design visible below. The ground was covered with red and yellow leaves, drawing a slight smile and overriding my sense of cold satisfaction. Zack was diagonal from me, and I caught his gaze once, at least. Around me, everyone was all smiles. Except Kurt Hannegan. He just looked stiff.

The campus was glorious, a miasma of autumn leaf colors standing out against the still—green grass that they lay upon. A few leaves still clung to their host trees stubbornly, apparently unaware that their eviction was imminent. That was okay by me, though, because I loved the colors, loved how they contrasted with the dull brown bark of their progenitors. I wasn’t looking forward to the last of them leaving, because I knew winter was coming. I shivered; it was my least favorite time of the year.

The smell of gun oil in the cabin was strong, and I felt the weight of the chopper shifting as the wheels touched down. I reached across and grabbed James by the arm as Scott released his restraints. I tugged him to his feet as Reed opened the door for me and I pulled Fries out. He almost made a misstep but caught himself, and I pulled him along blindly toward the red-haired woman standing at the edge of the landing pad.

“Hello, Ariadne,” I said with a smile. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean where you come back from a mission and I’m here waiting for you? You know how I worry.”

“Hah. Yes, Mother.”

She feigned a wounded look. “Coming from you, that hurts.”

I pushed James around, front and center, and pulled his hood off. He seemed to flinch at the light. “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” I said.

“Good.” She gave him a cold glare. “Nice to see you again, James. You probably didn’t realize this, but we’ve been watching you for a while.” I started to remove the duct tape over his mouth but she shook her head. “Leave it. I’m not interested in anything he has to say at this point.”

“Okay. Say goodbye, James.” I raised my gun and put the barrel to his temple. He struggled against my grip on his arm, but I had him held tight. I saw his eyes widen in surprise. So did Ariadne’s a moment later when I brought the butt of my gun around and clubbed him in the side of the head, dropping him to the tarmac, unconscious, as the chopper’s engine cut out and I heard the rotors begin to spin down behind me.

“I hope you didn’t do any lasting damage,” she said, looking to where Fries had crumpled at her feet. She stepped back, her high-heeled shoes clicking against the pavement, barely audible under the last noises of the rotors dying down. “He’s here to be interrogated, after all.”

“Hard to do brain damage when he didn’t have a brain to damage,” Reed said from next to me.

“Oh, he has a brain.” I looked at my half-brother with a cocked eyebrow. “A horrific and sleazy one, but it’s there. Cunning doesn’t begin to describe this one.”

“Yeah, well, let’s get this cunning, sleazy bastard into lockdown,” Scott said, Kat at his side. “Because some of us have plans for tonight.”

“Carry him down,” I said, giving the nod to Scott.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smartass salute, and reached down to pick up Fries’s legs. “Reed, old boy,” he said, affecting a British accent, “would you mind being a decent chap and help me carry him? There’s a good lad...”

“What’s with the British accent?” Reed asked, grabbing Fries by the arm and lifting him onto Scott’s shoulder.

“Trying to make you feel at home,” Scott said with a wide grin. “You know, because you haven’t been home to talk to your bosses in a while.”

“They’re in Rome, not England.”

“Oh, right,” Scott said with a twinkle in his eyes, “then it must be cos’ I want’d to sound a bit sophisticated, innit?” he said, changing his voice into a horrible Cockney accent. With a laugh, he sauntered off toward headquarters with Fries on his shoulder, Kat and Hannegan trailing behind him.