The conversation continued, with Brock outlining the steps he was taking to reacquire the targets. Just when it was nearing an end, the limo stopped and another man slid in beside Fuller. Brock recognized the newcomer as Robert Hernandez, an enigmatic member of Homeland Security, with a rank and responsibilities that were not entirely clear, at least not to Brock.

Hernandez acknowledged Brock, and Fuller asked the man from Homeland Security to hold tight until he and Brock had finished their discussion.

Five minutes later, when Brock had finished his briefing, Fuller put him on hold, and both video and audio went dark. It was infuriating. Whatever Fuller was discussing with Hernandez was apparently out of his pay grade. Which once again, only served to make his job harder. The less he knew about what was really going on, the more handicapped he became.

22

ONCE BROCK WAS on hold, Fuller filled his visitor in on recent events while Hernandez reached for several bottles on the bar and mixed himself a drink. The limo’s ride was so smooth it was hard to tell it was even moving much of the time.

“So your people missed everywhere?” said Hernandez, shaking his head in disbelief. “They missed at the university and they missed getting Drake in Yuma?”

Fuller nodded.

“I thought you had him dead to rights. I assumed you’d make sure to use overwhelming force.”

“He was very clever. He had booby traps we didn’t see coming. And the men he had, while they couldn’t stand up to our force for more than a token few minutes, bought him enough time to escape through a system of tunnels.”

“You’re positive it was him?”

“Yes. And we’re all but certain we’re not dealing with a squeamish, tree-hugging pacifist anymore who wouldn’t know sound military strategy from his asshole. Assuming he has one, of course. I’m not an exobiologist. But we’re now dealing with a different animal altogether. Plus he had access to a lot of money, and his preparations showed. And he only cared about his own escape. Didn’t seem to give a shit about the rest of his people at all.”

Fuller paused to sip from the glass he was holding. “Even with all of this, we still aren’t absolutely sure how he did it. He might have used advanced technology, but we don’t think so. We really only have a sketchy idea of what we’re up against. Even after he escaped, four members of the team picked up his trail. Three of the four are still unconscious—have been for hours. We think we’ll be able to revive them, but how long this will take is unclear. The thing is, they don’t appear to have been touched. We have no idea what happened to them. The good news is that one of them did come to about ten minutes ago, and I’m expecting a preliminary report any second.”

“Any guesses?”

“None. Maybe Drake used some kind of fucking Jedi mind trick. Anything is possible.”

“So where do we go from here?” said Hernandez.

Fuller was about to reply when he was interrupted by a call. He stayed on the phone for several minutes and then hung up. “That was my preliminary report,” he told Hernandez. “Right on schedule. The commando who regained consciousness said he was closing in on Drake when he was overcome by the most intense pain and fear he had ever felt; so intense that he passed out from it.”

“Must have been what happened to all of them.”

“Almost certainly,” agreed Fuller. “And these men are hardened soldiers with a tolerance for pain that is off the charts, not weak-kneed schoolgirls fainting when they see a needle. Intense must be an understatement.”

“Was any kind of device pointed at him?”

Fuller shook his head. “Not that he remembers. But he isn’t positive. We’ll learn more when the rest regain consciousness.” He paused. “Anyway, before the interruption, I believe you were asking me where we go from here.”

“That’s right.”

“The answer is that we pull out all the stops to reacquire Drake, Erin Palmer, and Kyle Hansen, that’s where. All the stops. We found Hansen’s phone. Drake had sent him a text message instructing him to bring Erin Palmer to a certain destination, and that Drake would contact them there.” Fuller checked his watch. “In a little over thirty-two hours from now.”

“Certain destination?”

“We think it might be Colorado, but we can’t be sure. CO could well be a code for something else. The good news is that Drake told them not to attempt to contact him until then.”

“Why is this good news? If they attempt to communicate, this gives us a better chance of finding them.”

“Because only Erin Palmer knows which treatment works. So we have thirty-two hours to find either Drake or her. As long as they’re isolated from each other, incommunicado, we have nothing to worry about. But if Drake gets the information he’s after, he’ll deploy the cure as soon as possible. We’re not sure exactly how, but our best guess is a genetically engineered virus. Probably the common cold.”

“So she and Drake are like binary liquid explosives,” said Hernandez. “As long as they don’t touch, they’re safe. Mix them together and you’ve got a problem.”

“Right. She knows which therapeutic mixture works, but has no means to spread it. We assume he has the virus ready to go—just needs to put on the finishing touches. So he has the means to spread it as soon as he learns the combination. Together—well, let’s just say we’re fucked.”

“And you have no doubt that this treatment will perform as advertised? And that the effect will be permanent?”

“None,” replied Fuller. “The inmates I had examined had normal brain physiology. And the repaired genome will maintain its integrity all the way into the germ line.”

“Any leads on Drake?”

“None. But I have a feeling this girl will be the easier target of the two.”

“Why?” asked the man from Homeland Security. “She’s done a great job of playing hard to get so far.”

“Just intuition. The other target has an alien mind—more alien than we can begin to imagine—and unclear capabilities. But we can make some educated guesses with respect to Erin Palmer’s behavior. Put ourselves in her shoes and try to predict her moves. But trying to think like an alien, or outguess one, is a fool’s errand.” Fuller paused. “But she is key to his plans. So if we catch her, he’ll have to come after her.”

“Just for the sake of argument, wouldn’t it be safer to kill her? Before she gives up what she knows? Then her knowledge dies with her.”

Fuller shook his head. “And then Drake goes to ground and we don’t know what he’ll do next. But it’s likely that he’ll just find another way to identify the right therapy. Without using a patsy this time.”

“No chance. Not when we’re alerted to this possibility.”

“He won’t use inmates,” said Fuller in a tone that suggested his patience was wearing thin. “He could just kidnap subjects off the street. From gangs, cartels, and other groups enriched for psychopaths. Separate out the true psychopaths from the pretenders, and test the shit out of them.”

“So you think if we acquire her and keep her alive, she’ll be bait he won’t be able to resist?”

“Exactly. He’s only days away from releasing this virus. If he has her information. Being this close, he’ll decide it’s worth the risk mounting a rescue attempt. And we’ll make sure we have some obvious weaknesses in our security—to make it even more tempting.”

Hernandez nodded. “You’re the boss. If you think keeping her alive at this point makes sense, we’ll keep her alive.”

A thoughtful expression came over Fuller’s face. “There’s also the potential for a much deeper game. Higher risk, but higher gain. Winning would be a good thing, don’t get me wrong.” He pursed his lips. “But we may be in a position to do more than just win.”

Hernandez nodded thoughtfully. “I’m listening,” he said.