Shards of Hope (9781101605219) Page 6

  Krychek appeared beside Vasic right then. Dressed in black combat pants and a black T-shirt, the cardinal telekinetic appeared more akin to the Arrows than to the political sharks with whom he swam daily. “This is the location?” His eyes, cold white stars on black, scanned the scene.

  Vasic gave a short nod before looking toward Mica. “The bodies?” There was too much blood for one person; he’d have known Zaira had taken down at least one of her attackers even without the telepathic briefing he’d received when Mica’s team first arrived at the scene.

  “We have three in a cold storage room at the compound.” The lieutenant stood at parade rest, his eyes watchful of the civilians who lingered beyond the perimeter. “Someone used a high-powered laser to burn off the dead men’s faces and their fingerprints show signs of having been burned off months ago.”

  “Crude but effective.” Kaleb looked at Vasic from the other side of the splatters of blood, having walked slowly around, his eyes cataloguing the evidence as he moved. “Obliterating the faces wouldn’t have taken longer than a minute at most. DNA?”

  Mica answered only after glancing at Vasic and receiving a nod. Vasic wasn’t officially Aden’s second in command, had never believed he was stable enough for the position, but his squadmates had always treated him as if he was—and now, the mantle was beginning to fit.

  “No DNA hits.”

  It was possible to wipe someone that deeply from the official record, but it took considerable power and access. “Psy?” he asked the lieutenant as Kaleb crouched down beside the bloodstains as if attempting to analyze the pattern.

  The answer was a surprise. “One Psy, two humans.”

  Krychek’s head came up at Mica’s response, the flawless physical lines of his face betraying nothing, despite the fact that he was the man who’d taken down Silence. Many people believed it was a twisted double bluff, that Krychek was holding on to his own emotionless conditioning while nudging others out of it. Those who believed the latter thought he planned to take advantage of the confusion engendered by the breakdown of a way of life that had lasted more than a hundred years.

  Those people seemed to have conveniently forgotten the psychic bond that tied Krychek to Sahara Kyriakus. The man wasn’t Silent—he was just very, very, very good at showing only what he wished.

  “Psy and human?” he said to Mica, his dark hair gleaming blue-black under the streetlight.

  “Yes. We double-checked the genetic screen.”

  That was highly unusual. Psy and humans could work together, and the Human Alliance had recently assisted in helping those of Vasic’s race control the infection that had turned so many Psy blindly murderous, but it was a fragile relationship at best. Humans had no trust in the Psy, given how often unethical Psy had used their abilities to manipulate and rape human minds. For members of the two races to work together to abduct an Arrow was so beyond the realm of what was known as to be nearly incomprehensible.

  “Did the humans show signs of mind control?” Long-term control could leave physical lesions on the brain.

  Mica shook his head. “It was the first thing the pathologist looked for.”

  Vasic wasn’t surprised—it made no sense to use enslaved humans against a high-value target. The puppet master couldn’t know when his slaves might collapse from the strain of fighting against psychic coercion. “Any other useful data?”

  Mica’s eyes met Vasic’s. Sir, should I answer aloud?

  Vasic knew Mica wasn’t worried about the bystanders—they were too far away to catch anything. Did you find any signs Krychek may be involved?

  No, though investigations are ongoing.

  Answer aloud for now and run any sensitive data past me. The fact was, Kaleb had tentacles in every corner of the Net—he was an asset they couldn’t afford not to utilize. And so far in their alliance, the cardinal had kept his word.

  “Zaira managed to telepath certain details before she was incapacitated,” the lieutenant said. “Five trained operatives working as a unit, in silence.”

  That eliminated any possibility of mind control. Zaira was very experienced. If she’d described the five as a unit, they had to have been consciously cooperating. Mind control was never that smooth, especially in high-pressure situations.

  Krychek rose to his feet. His telepathic voice was as cold and obsidian as his eyes when he said, There’s been nothing, not even a faint rumor, of any such Psy-human cooperation.

  It appears we have an intelligent and careful enemy. One smart enough to plug all leaks and skilled enough to abduct the leader of the Arrow Squad and one of his most experienced commanders. Before today, Vasic would’ve said that was impossible.

  Chapter 7

  ZAIRA WOKE WITH a throbbing head and a mouth filled with cotton wool, the pillow under her head hard yet tensile. Scanning out with her mind, she gasped, the shattering pain sparking fireworks in front of her eyes.

  “Zaira.” A familiar masculine voice in the pitch-dark inside what had to be a hide, Aden’s hand brushing away her hood to expose her face, his blunt-tipped fingers on her pulse. “How is your head?”

  “Water first,” she said, her voice coming out a croak as she managed to sit up after bracing her hand on her pillow—which turned out to be Aden’s thigh. He was warm under her touch and she didn’t immediately break the contact. Being alone inside her head . . . it threatened to wake the feral, inhuman creature she’d once been, the one who had planned two murders and executed the plan so flawlessly that Justice had wanted to execute her.

  The fact she’d been seven years old at the time had been seen not as a mitigating factor but as an aggravating one.

  If the subject is capable of this level of violence at her current age, she will undoubtedly be a threat to society if allowed to grow to adulthood.

  That had been the conclusion of the joint PsyMed-Justice report done on her at the time, a report she’d accessed after she was an adult. They had been right in a sense; left alone, she would’ve no doubt become even more violent and out of control. It was Arrow training that had taught her discipline . . . and Aden who had taught her that she had value beyond her ability to mete out violence.

  “Here.”

  Taking the water bottle from Aden in her spare hand, the fingers of her other one curling into the taut muscle of his thigh, she drank the whole bottle. “We’ll have to get more.”

  “The weather’s going to make collecting water a nonissue.”

  Eyes acclimated enough to the darkness that she could make him out, she saw Aden reaching inside the pack for more water. “No, not just now.” Putting down the empty bottle, she lifted her hand to touch the incision site, but he tugged it away before she could make contact.

  “It’s out,” he told her after releasing her wrist. “Don’t mess with it. Your head?”

  “As if there’s a live jackhammer in there.” The final sparks of the fireworks finally faded away to leave her conscious of the sound of thunderous rain outside. No wonder Aden wasn’t worried about their water supply. “How long was I out?”

  “I don’t have a timepiece but I estimate three hours.”

  “The chopper?”

  “I heard it circling maybe an hour after you went down, and just before the rain got this bad and the wind turned into a gale.”

  So they were safe enough for now. Their pursuers would be idiotic to try to track them in this terrain in the dark in such inclement weather. On the flip side—“They have to know we’ll have holed up.”

  Aden nodded. “We’ll have to be ready to move as soon as the weather clears up enough that the chopper can take off again.” Lifting an index finger, he made her follow it from left to right, then took her through a battery of other tests to check for any lingering impairment. “You’re physically fine.”

  “No PsyNet link,” she said, answering his unasked question. “I i
nstinctively did a telepathic scan when I woke and the pain was severe enough that I think a second attempt could cause me to black out again.”

  The aloneness was a huge thing inside her, stretching and growing and swallowing her up until soon all that remained would be the rage that had burned in her as a child. “We should do your surgery now.” Not only was her mental state unstable, her abdomen didn’t feel right. “I think I might still be bleeding internally.”

  Expression grim, Aden got her to pull up her blood-matted top and palpated her abdomen. “Yes,” he said afterward. “I clearly didn’t find all the damage.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She put the top—plus the sweater—back down and zipped up his leather jacket, then the waterproof one she wore over it. “The fact you’ve kept me alive this long is a credit to your skill.” He was only meant to be a field surgeon and medic, but Aden had never been “only” anything. “Let me pay back the favor. This weather makes it likely they’ll press the kill switch the next time they can get up in the air. No point leaving you alive if they have doubts about being able to get to you.”

  “There’s just enough charge left in the last laser that you should be able to unseal the bone following the lines of the original surgery. You’ll have to do the rest using a scalpel.”

  She stared at him. “Aden I’m a combat telepath trained in hand-to-hand fighting and various weapons. I know how to slit a throat using any knife at hand, but I don’t know how to do complex surgery.” It would’ve been difficult enough with the laser. “I’ll butcher you.” End up with hands drenched in blood again.

  Her mind flickered with frozen snapshots of her palms stained a rust red that had an orange tinge, her arms splattered with flecks of brain matter. Each mental photograph was from the point of view of the child she’d been, the ground below far closer and her bare feet wet with the blood in which she’d walked as she brought down the pipe over and over again.

  Small, smeared footprints surrounded the bodies.

  Gritting her teeth, she slammed shut a mental door that hadn’t opened since the day she perfected her shields. That screaming, bloodied girl was gone. Dead. “I can’t do it.”

  “You have to.” Aden dragged the daypack closer and pulled out the medkit.

  “Aden,” she began, fingers still curled tightly into his thigh.

  His eyes locked with hers in the darkness inside the cocoon he’d created for them. “I’m dead otherwise.” An inescapable truth. “As you said, I’d make the same choice.”

  To die attempting to fight their captors rather than allow them to blow up his brain from a distance.

  Breathing in and out, she tried not to hear the scrabbling nails of the murderous ghost she’d put back in her cell, and said, “Tell me how.”

  • • •

  HUNDREDS of miles away, another meeting was taking place, the attendees hooked in via comm screens set to audio only, except for the one that showed the man in charge of the operation to retrieve Aden Kai.

  “A much bigger storm is scheduled to hit within the next hour.” His jaw moved as he chewed. “We’ll have a roughly five-minute window in about ten minutes—the current front is moving away from us and the real storm’s not yet arrived.”

  “Chances of retrieval?”

  “Low. I’ve got people on the ground but they’re trapped on either side of swollen rivers and streams, or hampered by low visibility.” A foul dark brown stream coming out of his mouth, his spit aimed at the ground. “We can take the chopper up in the window between the smaller storm and the bigger one. What do you want me to do? Search or eliminate?”

  “Please wait.” Muting their side of the feed so he wouldn’t be able to hear the discussion, the attendees spoke among themselves, their voices distorted by technology. The decision was unanimous: Aden Kai could have been a serious asset, one that would’ve significantly accelerated their long-term plans, but they couldn’t risk him getting out alive.

  “Eliminate,” they told the search leader. “Take the chopper up as soon as it clears and sweep the area while emitting the destruct signal.”

  That signal had a range of two miles. The leader of the Arrows would be dead long before the second storm hit.

  • • •

  BLOCKING out the noise of the howling wind and the pounding rain, her heavy rainproof jacket off so she could move more easily, Zaira knelt behind Aden. He was taller than her but he’d taken a cross-legged position and bent forward so she could work on him.

  She gripped the penlight in her teeth, shining the beam onto the crudely sealed incision on the back of his head, and after cleaning it as he’d told her, picked up the laser and cut along the lines of the previous surgery. Aden had instructed her to do it three times, going a fraction deeper each time. The laser died midway through her third set of cuts.

  “You should be able to use the tip of the scalpel to lever up the bone,” Aden said with no pain in his tone, though she knew from experience that this had to hurt. “The previous seal is weak enough now that it should break.”

  Taking the disinfected blade, Zaira followed his instructions. Any hesitation could mean the difference between getting the implant out in time or not, the difference between Aden’s life or his death, so she put her mind into the icy-calm state where nothing could reach her and used a knife on the one person she’d sworn to protect, to never harm.

  “Bone’s out,” she said around the penlight.

  Blood welled and she had to wash it out using the disinfectant. “I can see the suture in the membrane.”

  “Cut it open—use a delicate touch.”

  She made the cut before she could overthink things. “Done.”

  Aden’s shoulders locked, his breathing rough, but he said, “You should see the implant.”

  “It’s not there.” She made sure the beam was shining right at the wound, and that the blood had been cleaned out. A glint caught her eye. “Wait. I can see the very edge of what might be one of the ‘legs’ you described.”

  “They did the surgery in a rush. The implant may have moved.” Aden released a harsh exhale. “You’ll have to widen the hole in the bone using the blade.”

  The ice threatened to crack, her stomach churning. A single tiny error and she could stop his breathing. But if she didn’t, she reminded herself, then the cowards who’d done this would kill him from a distance.

  “Get ready,” she said from around the penlight and began to saw at the bone.

  The disposable scalpel bent a minute later and she had to switch to a barbaric-looking hunting knife. Disinfecting it, she continued on, having to clear away blood multiple times, the knife doing far more damage than a laser would have.

  She couldn’t hold on to the ice. This wasn’t some random target. This was Aden. And she was hurting him, blood slick on her thin surgical gloves.

  “Zaira.”

  Realizing she’d frozen, she slammed the memory door shut again and continued to slowly, painfully widen the hole in his skull.

  Sweat trickled down her temple but she kept her hand steady. This was Aden’s life. She would not fail. Putting down the knife after removing an inch-by-inch square of bone, she washed out the blood using the disinfectant because they had no other sterile liquid. Aden went rigid but stayed conscious. “Do you see it?” he gritted out.

  A glimmering square of metal in among the flesh and blood. “Yes,” she said just as there was a tiny flicker of blue at the site, an electrical impulse passing through the device.

  “This’ll be the hardest part,” he said, his breathing rough. “You can’t laser through the legs so you’ll have to use the tip of the scalpel to lift them up.” He asked to see the bent scalpel. “Yes,” he said after she showed him. “The tip is still sharp and flat enough for it to work.”

  It was like asking a giant to pick up a single fine sewing needle off a floo
r slippery with blood.

  But Zaira would do it. There was no other choice.

  “The rain’s stopped.”

  Zaira hadn’t noticed, but now she felt the stunning quiet. No rain, no wind. The chopper would be in the air soon, their pursuers moving on the ground. It meant they, too, had to move, but she wasn’t about to rush this and paralyze or kill Aden.

  She carefully disinfected the scalpel again using the near-empty bottle of disinfectant. She was just about to slip the angular and sharp tip under a metallic spider leg when she heard the faint, faraway echo of the chopper. Ignoring it, she went back to work . . . and suddenly the implant lit up, the electrical impulses turning it into an electric blue storm.

  Every muscle in Aden’s body locked as the impulses started to snake up at rapid speed, going for his cerebral cortex. She didn’t even think about it. Sliding the tip of the blade directly under the main part of the implant, she tore it off without finesse and threw it aside. “Aden? Aden!” He was bleeding badly, his head hanging forward.

  She washed out the wound with the last of the disinfectant and, with no way to repair the membrane, slotted in the pieces of bone she’d removed and slapped on a thick piece of gauze to soak up the blood while she tried to find a pulse in his neck. “Don’t be dead,” she said. “Don’t be dead.” It was a low, staccato mantra as she searched desperately for a pulse, her blood-slick fingers sliding over his skin. “Don’t be dead, Aden.” Don’t leave me all alone. You promised I would never be alone again.

  Tearing off the gloves, she replaced the blood-soaked gauze and searched for a pulse again. Aden couldn’t be dead. Aden was the squad’s future. Without him, they’d crumble, fade away, break into a million pieces. “Don’t be dead,” she said again, and this time it was an order. “Wake up!”

  Thud.

  She halted, listened with her fingertips, and felt it again, the thud of his heart pumping blood. Removing her fingers from his throat, she quickly lifted the gauze and checked the state of the bleeding. Bad. There was nothing in the medkit to seal it up, so all she could do was tape a fresh gauze pad over the site and try to put pressure on the wound.