The Fall (52 page)

Hard.

Hastings winced and staggered back, but to Angela's surprise, he remained standing.

She pressed on, rushing toward him, slicing the air with the knife.

Hastings blocked with his padded forearm, striking her wrist.

She managed to hold on to the knife and slashed it outward again, the tip of the blade grazing his throat a second time.

Hastings ignored it, following the sweep of the knife, grabbing her wrist with his right hand.

She tried to pull free but he managed to seize her neck with his left hand, squeezing, picking up her light frame off the ground, shaking her.

“Who do you think you're fucking with?”

Angela found it impossible to breathe, her legs swinging wildly under her, trying to kick him again. But Hastings's long arm kept her at bay as he began to twist her wrist, forcing her to loosen the grip on the knife.

As her vision began to tunnel, she heard spitting sounds behind her, listened to bodies fall on the floor.

Someone just shot the waiters.

Angela used the distraction to palm-strike Hastings's sternum with her free hand, pushing away, landing on her feet, the knife still in her hand as she stepped back while the general looked past her with surprise.

Capitalizing on the distraction, she lurched forward, closing the gap while slashing the knife at him with all her might, feeling it cut through his larynx.

Hastings shifted back and reached for his throat, blood gushing through his fingers, eyes wide open but still focused behind her just as a bullet hit him smack in the middle of the forehead, in between his eyebrows.

She turned around, bloody knife in hand.

“Hey, it's me,” Jack said, lowering the weapon and lifting his goggles, letting them rest at the top of his forehead.

She froze, dropping the knife, staring at him in sheer disbelief.

“Dammit, Jack,” she said, rushing to his arms. “What took you so long?”

*   *   *

Jack loved her embrace as she jumped on him, wrapping her arms and legs around him, burying her face in his chest.

He hugged her back while looking around the room, making sure they were alone, briefly closing his eyes, kissing the top of her head, before cupping her face and kissing her, then hugging her, and kissing her again.

“I knew you weren't dead,” she whispered, her lips brushing his. “I just knew it.”

“It's a long story,” he said. “But first I need to get you out of here.”

“Good, because I'm done here,” she replied, jumping off him.

“You killed Hastings,” he said, staring at his still figure on the floor, blood pooling around him.

“Didn't like the way he looked at me,” she replied.

He raised his brows. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Just don't vanish like that again. Gave me a fucking heart attack.”

He almost laughed, then said, “We're not out of the woods yet.” Tapping his throat mike, he added, “Found Angie.”

“Give her a hug from us.”

Jack grinned. “Dago and Art say hello. They helped me get here.”

“I owe them everything,” she said, before adding, “Now let's go get Pete.”

“Here,” Jack said, handing her the Sig Sauer. “Try not to shoot me.”

Angela made a face and took the weapon, making sure a round was chambered before saying, “Ready when you are, Mr. Navy SEAL.”

He lowered the goggles and led the way, finding two more guards in the basement, where Angela told him they would be, before reaching Pete's room.

It took him a moment to get over the weirdness of the moment. His nemesis in one world was his best friend in the other.

And this Pete had been beaten into a pulp. He was unconscious but had a pulse. While Angela stood guard, Jack dressed him quickly in one of the uniforms, then threw him across his shoulders, just as he had been trained when extracting wounded soldiers from the battlefield.

Once again leading the way, Jack went out the back, down the steps leading to the helipad, past the guards he had killed, and straight to the docks, selecting the smaller of three speedboats.

While Angie worked the lines, untying them from the cleats, Jack got under the dash and hot-wired the boat, engaging the engine.

A moment later they were off, cruising across the lake.

And as Angela sat next to him on the bench seat, running an arm around his bicep and pressing her head against his shoulder, as the wind blew on his face and the moon and the stars looked down on them, Jack Taylor felt that everything was suddenly right with the world.

 

EPILOGUE

NEW BEGINNINGS

There can be no thought of finishing, for “aiming at the stars,” both literally and figuratively, is a problem to occupy generations, so that no matter how much progress one makes, there is always the thrill of just beginning.

—Dr. Robert Goddard

The destruction of his empire happened rather quickly, just as Angela had predicted.

The IT guys figured it out first, as they regained control of the security cameras and noticed that General Hastings was dead along with his security detail, including his South American colleagues.

The exodus from his operation was nothing short of dramatic, as scientists, politicians, security personnel, accountants, bankers, merchants, and military leaders tried to put as much distance as possible between them and the imploding operation, especially after the wave of cyberattacks, exposed bank accounts, shadowy financial deals, and clear evidence of money laundering and embezzlement reaching not only the desks at the
New York Times,
the
Washington Post,
and a dozen other news outlets, but also going viral on a host of social networks.

In the end, the president had to step in and bring some sense of order to the madness, appointing a congressional panel to investigate the matter and bring those responsible to justice.

Jack and Angela Taylor, plus Pete Flaherty, were among those who spent countless hours behind closed doors with a panel of congressmen and scientists going over their observations, their firsthand accounts, documenting the incredible discovery of an amazing source of energy, and the disturbing plot to use it for global domination in the hands of a madman.

And shortly after that the arrests began, and not just across the nation, but across the world, as U.S. law enforcement collaborated with the international community to tear down every aspect of Hastings's operation. The goal was to root it out, to drown it all, leaving it no chance of reigniting under another madman. The president, assisted by his congressional panel, and a team of advisors, which included Jack, Angela, and Pete, wanted to make sure that they would not be fighting this battle again in the future while also ensuring a safe and responsible way to harvest the benefits of salolitite, a clean energy source with the potential to realize the dream of forever moving away from fossil fuels.

And the evening when they returned home from their month-long trip to Washington, the three friends toasted to that future while enjoying a blazing Florida sunset.

Pete left at around midnight. Tomorrow was his first day back at work, back at the helm of not just Project Phoenix but of NASA after a grateful president appointed him director of the space agency under the applause of both sides of the House.

Jack and Angela could also have gotten pretty much anything they wanted, but they just chose each other and their home in Cocoa Beach. Tomorrow would also be a special day for them, and not just by returning to NASA and continuing to pave the way for space jumps while also exploring the potential of salolitite to realize Einstein's theories, but also because they would get a very special visitor.

Angela had made one request to the president: she'd asked for full custody of Erika Wiltz.

After all, a promise was a promise.

She was as determined as ever to get her marriage back on track, and she never did push much trying to find out exactly what had taken place in that other world for those couple of weeks with someone who Jack described as her twin, beside learning that she had built him another suit. Perhaps some things were best left alone. Jack was with her now, and that was all that really mattered.

And it was him who had suggested a few new rules for their relationship, including always being able to speak their minds in front of each other, never going to bed angry, and never, ever, sleeping in separate beds again.

But late at night, long after they'd made love and fallen asleep in each other's arms, he would sometimes get up and walk outside to gaze at the stars.

She never asked him why and he never offered. He would just spend a few minutes staring at the heavens, before crawling back in bed to hold her in a way he never had before, tight, tenderly.

And there were other things, like the way he now liked to step in the shower with her, or that new hot tub he ordered, or the way he let her take control in bed.

She knew it reminded him of the woman at the other end of that dimensional jump.

But she didn't care. It was that same woman who figured out a way to return him back to her.

And Angela even began to appreciate the way she'd somehow changed him in such intimate ways in such a short time, how she'd made him care just a bit more, which in turn made her care a bit more.

Little by little, in just a couple of short months, Angela found herself in the middle of a great marriage, full of passion, love, joy and laughter, just like in the old days, making her believe once again that they might be able to go the distance, giving her a solid foundation to start the next phase of their marriage, adopting a wonderful little girl in need of a loving family.

And it was all because of her, the woman beyond the stars, who'd made them both realize that forever meant forever.

*   *   *

The frame took forever to complete.

It had to be light but strong, ready to receive a chrome-glistening engine that looked more like an elaborate work of art than the deliverer of 150 horsepower to the extra-wide rear wheel.

Wearing a pair of greasy coveralls, welding goggles and gloves, Angela stepped back to admire her creation in the making. There was still much work to be done, but tonight a set of aluminum pipes had been painstakingly transformed into a thing of beauty.

Mickey Valle would have been proud.

She removed her protective clothing and left them hanging next to the frame, before starting to shut down Dago's shop at just past five in the morning.

She loved the late shift because that meant she had the shop all to herself to work on Dago's special projects, the ones commissioned to Paradise by a growing list of discriminating clients to whom money was secondary to their pursuit of one-of-a-kind toys. And this one was certainly starting to look like another unique master creation.

Stepping back, she took another moment to enjoy what would likely be her last project before the fall session started up in Melbourne. Where she would be back to her old routine.

Well, her old routine minus one Pete Flaherty.

She frowned, still furious at him for having reacted the way he did, for letting greed take over his senses. She had agreed to meet him a week after Jack's departure, but only on her terms, down in Miami with Dago's full staff in attendance.

He had managed to keep his job at NASA after selling Hastings the Taliban lie while also announcing that his team had managed to locate and rescue Angela Taylor down in Miami.

She had reluctantly agreed to the lie, letting him take credit for rescuing her in exchange for the safety of Dago and his gang—plus getting NASA to foot the bill for the repairs of her home and a new boat. After all, the glass accelerator was gone, and with it any chance of reproducing it.

And then she told him she never wanted to see him again. Ever.

That was almost two months ago.

Angela grimaced and put a hand on her belly.

She was nauseated again. The third time this week.

Reaching in the refrigerator next to Dago's office, she grabbed a can of ginger ale and sipped it slowly while turning off the lights, walking out the back, activating the alarm system and closing and locking the heavy metal door.

She climbed on the Triumph and put on her helmet and lowered the goggles before kick-starting the bike, twisting the throttle to rev it up when the engine caught. But she had to shut it down when her stomach contracted.

Leaning over, she vomited right onto the pavement, splashing her riding boots.

What the hell?

She stared at it for a moment, as the feeling passed just as soon as it had started.

Angela sat there, on the Bonneville, alone in the parking lot under a blanket of stars, which always reminded her of Jack, of the short time they'd spent together, which now almost felt like some sort of dream, an escape from the loneliness that had been her life for the past five years.

But Jack had returned to her, if only for a little while.

They had laughed, and talked, and rode together, and they even had—

Angela froze, trying to remember the last time she got her period.

Oops.

She kick-started the bike and rode to the nearest twenty-four-hour pharmacy, grabbing the first instant pregnancy test she could find and not even bothering paying for it before rushing to the store's ladies' room.

It didn't take long before she stepped back out, holding the results in her hand, walking aimlessly up and down the aisles, her mind going in twenty different directions, before somehow she found the cashier, an elderly lady who gave her a puzzled look as Angela stood there with the small test wand in her hand.

“Where's the box, honey?”

Angela blinked, staring at the results again, before mumbling, “Back there … in the … bathroom.”

The woman's wrinkled face shifted, becoming warm, soft, beaming with motherly pride as she said, “Well, that's perfectly all right. You just had to know, dear. Now, let's see what kind it is.”