 
# Rogues of Overwatch

The Halfway Heroes Trilogy

Book II

By Dustin Martin

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by: Natalie Mortensen

Book Cover Illustration by: Mario Saggia

ISBN: 978-0-9914611-3-4

Copyright 2016 by Dustin Martin. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
I dedicate this to God, my family, and friends who have helped me throughout writing this book. Special thanks to my girlfriend, who constantly supports me. I'm just as proud of you as you are of me. Also, thank you to Natalie and Mario for helping me bring this book to completion, despite my nitpicks. This book wouldn't be possible without either of you. My gratitude to everyone can never be overstated, so I will simply thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
Table of Contents

Chapter 1—The Big Man

Chapter 2—Employee Expectations

Chapter 3—Fire and Flowers

Chapter 4—Field Experience

Chapter 5—The Race is On

Chapter 6—That Old Familiar Feeling

Chapter 7—Gassed

Chapter 8—Emergency Pickup

Chapter 9—Recommended Discharge

Chapter 10—Clever Little Sneaks

Chapter 11—The Name Everyone Wants to Know

Chapter 12—Roland Whyte

Chapter 13—Live Bait

Chapter 14—The Sawmill

Chapter 15—Wheeling and Dealing

Chapter 16—Traitor in the Midst

Chapter 17—Date Night

Chapter 18—Succeed to Fail

Chapter 19—Test Results

Chapter 20—In the Loop

Chapter 21—Confession

Chapter 22—Advancing Army

Chapter 23—Wanted Alive

Chapter 24—Motivation

Chapter 25—Mano a Mano

Chapter 26—Redundant and Obsolete

Chapter 27—Exposed Flaw

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Chapter 1- The Big Man

After his capture, darkness enveloped everything. A blindfold throughout the long car ride. The first cell held no light, save the flooding brightness that poured in when the door opened. That only happened during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, when he was served a bare meal that hardly satisfied an appetite.

That first room also stank of chemicals. Pipes from a factory above —or a place equally as noisy—ran from the ceiling to the floor, and the smell seemed to originate from them. Some were hot to the touch, others freezing cold. A few had fluids rushing through them all day, while one or two were rarely used.

Without light, being in the darkness for what felt like months acclimated his view. Stacks of boxes were shoved to one side, as if the place was temporarily used as a storage room. But having a leg chained to the opposite wall limited any searching through them. The constant troubling notion of dying alone, forgotten, abandoned in the room for good as a cruel end from higher management hung heavy the whole time. Sleep was difficult, but necessary, and the only thing to do beside ponder the happenings outside.

One day, his jailors decided to change locations. The second car ride, then a new room, underground and dressed up more like a cell, with iron bars on one end instead of a solid wall and door. On the other side of the bars, a string of weak lights hung along the rock hallway's ceiling like a mining tunnel. The meals improved a little, and the scent of damp earth replaced the pipes' toxic odor from the first room.

The chains were removed for the second room. Escape was deemed impossible by the jailors. The walls were solid rock and dirt, cold and coarse. The only ways to pass the time was sleeping on the little cot, exercising, and exploring every crevice of the cell for a way out. At least the idea of having been forgotten was laid to rest, but that only raised more questions. Questions of where he was, what was the final destination, what was the purpose— none were answered.

Time passed at an excruciatingly slow pace, until one day two of the jailors entered the cell. The men dragged the prisoner out and flung him at the feet of a third man, who pushed his sunglasses farther up his face.

"Come on, Mark. Let's go," Oliver said, fire licking his eyeglasses' rims.

Mark stood wearily and followed, stumbling between the other two mercenaries. They exited the tunnel into the blinding sunlight and climbed into two cars outside. Before Mark saw where his prison had been, the blindfold went on. For hours, they traveled in complete silence, like always.

By the afternoon, they arrived at some docks. The mercenaries and Mark boarded a boat, and he was locked in one of the cabins. A soft bed faced a television on a dresser drawer. Oh, thank God, was his last thought before collapsing onto the bed and flipping on the television as the boat set sail.

Turning to a news channel, he checked the date. Three months. For three months he had been held in captivity after surrendering himself to Whyte. He rolled off the bed and headed to the small bathroom attached to the cabin.

In the bathroom's mirror, he examined his scraggly, wild beard. His dyed black hair was giving way to his natural blond hue at the roots. He had lost a lot of weight in his prisons, becoming leaner and very pale from no sunlight, and had gained maybe half an inch, which didn't do much for his overall short height. His blue-gray eyes sank into dark pockets. A complete toiletry kit was stocked for him in the sink's cabinet. He took a shower and shaved, looking more like his old self, minus his longer, unkempt hair. When he came back to his room, he found a chicken dinner waiting for him. He sat on the bed and ate while watching the news.

None of the major news stations talked about his hometown, Golden Springs, or the aftermath of the terrorist attack there. In fact, each station seemed to cover a story everywhere else except Golden Springs. "Wildfires devastate the—", and "—the attorney said his client would like a plea bargain—", "Overwatch continues their talks with the United States for—", "—suspect is still at large, and citizens are urged to call the police regarding any information about the kidnapping."

He found a Colorado news station. Maybe they had a piece on it. If not, he could dig up the articles about what happened in the aftermath. Oliver, Roy, and the other mercenaries had kept him in the dark ever since they snatched him from Rooke's home. When the fighting in Golden Springs died down, he had been impressed into service for their boss. At this point, he was eager for any news on what had become of the city.

"Here behind me is where a large part of the fighting took place that day, only three months ago," said a reporter, pointing at Hunter Memorial Hospital in the background. "A majority of the group took over the hospital and engaged in an intense firefight with local police and FBI agents. It ended with many terrorists captured and others killed, and many innocents caught in the crossfire. And while things have been settling down at Hunter Memorial, now that most of those injured in the attack are taken care of, we still remember those whose lives were tragically cut short, and those who gave the ultimate sacrifice to defend everyone here."

The camera panned to a memorial stone erected outside the hospital and zoomed in on the names etched into the stone. There were too many names for Mark, and he dropped the bit of chicken on his fork, his appetite waning. "Everyone is grateful for the price they paid. A very steep price paid for the safety of the city."

The screen changed to the outskirts of Golden Springs. "The Golden Springs Police Department told me that the investigation into who these people are and why they attacked is still ongoing by the FBI and local authorities. A representative from Rooke Pharmaceuticals confirmed that they are cooperating fully with the FBI and police, but he refused to comment further about the investigation surrounding the company.

"However, some companies have been through worse than Rooke Pharmaceuticals. Several businesses have been forced to close due to the damage of the attack. Some of those that have stayed open have been offering their support and services to help rebuild and aid those most affected by this event. The biggest challenge ahead is picking up the pieces," the reporter said. "But everyone I've talked to seems to be ready to do their part and help the city return to normal. This is Patrick Fontaine. Back to you in the newsroom."

As two sketches appeared in the upper corner by the journalist's head, the screen switched to a news anchor behind a desk. "A very big challenge indeed," she said. "Police are still searching for the remaining two missing accomplices in the attack. Heather Stanson and Markus Bell are considered armed and dangerous. Citizens are asked to contact the Golden Springs Police Department or the FBI with any information as to their whereabouts. Any information leading to their apprehension will be rewarded."

Mark dropped his utensils as the screen displayed the phone numbers for the FBI, the police, and the fifty-thousand-dollar bounty put on their heads. His stomach gurgled and he moved to the bathroom. But fear stopped him. He didn't know what to do, whether he should sit or stand. Every person in the country would be looking to turn him in.

Another story started about a new zoo exhibit, but Mark was no longer paying attention. He ran to the door, pounding on it. "Let me out! I want to talk to you!" No answer, just echoes of his hits. This couldn't be real, could it? "Is this true? Is this reward true? Tell me!"

Nobody came to him. He sat down on the bed and looked at the single porthole, boarded up and not letting an ounce of light through. His body and the room rocked as the boat sped into the horizon.

* * *

A few days later, after constant starts, idle stops, and random direction changes, the boat finally docked. Two mercenaries entered, pulled a sack cloth over Mark's head, and dragged him off the boat. Despite his expectations of another car trip, he walked onto a metal surface and heard splashing water all around. They ushered him through a few doors and into an elevator.

Down they went, deep underwater, and the mercenaries took the sack cloth off as they passed through many steel-gray metal halls. Then Mark was locked in a room similar to that of the boat. Only his window view consisted of dull light to the side, illuminating the bubbles floating to the surface outside.

Was this to be his entire life now? Shuttled around, no answer given, no contact with anyone, no indication who held him prisoner or if Whyte still had anything to do with him? The entire ordeal frustrated Mark. Whenever he was whisked into another room, he vowed that he wouldn't go quietly until he knew the purpose of it all.

Another week passed without any interaction, sans the meals delivered to his room. Mark began to think that he could use mealtime as a way to escape.

As he brainstormed ideas before lunch one day, his door was flung open. Oliver and a headless woman entered, both armed with assault rifles. Before Mark could speak, they fired away.

Gunfire pinged off the walls. Mark flipped over the bed and ducked behind it. Bits of stuffing and feathers jumped out as the pair riddled the mattress with bullets. The television burst and fizzled as its screen shattered.

"Stop!" Mark yelled at the top of his lungs. But they continued on, emptying their clips.

When they finished, the room was quiet, and the debris and reverberating gunshots settled. Mark peered out from around the bed. Oliver unloaded his clip, stared into space, and blindly reached for another clip at his waist. "Mark?" he asked, loading his gun. The headless woman swapped clips as well. "You still there?"

He held his breath and checked himself. All the bullets that hit him had fallen off harmlessly, leaving scattered holes in his shirt. Mark looked at the walls, afraid the guns had punctured through and into the water. "Marco," Oliver said, creeping farther in. "Marco."

Mark crawled away from Oliver but pushed against the bed. With a screech, it slid an inch. "Polo!" Oliver blasted the bed and Mark covered his head.

Oliver exhausted the clip but didn't reload it. "You alive, Mark?" The boy stayed perfectly still, trying hard to keep quiet. "I could torch the room, if you prefer," Oliver said. "Or we could open a window."

"I'm here, I'm here! Okay?" Mark jumped up, raising his hands.

"Ah, you're alive! Great!" Oliver held out his hands and maneuvered around the bed. He touched Mark's face, limbs, and torso, humming and nodding to himself. "Don't feel like you're full of holes. Guess you passed."

"Passed what?"

"Why the test, of course," he said as if it was obvious. "Had to make sure your power was the genuine article."

"I already showed Whyte that it was!" Mark said hotly.

"Sure, you survived one bullet to the head. But what about hundreds? Or all sorts of injuries? But at least you can weather bullets, and that's one of the big ones. So now for your consolation prize." He pulled Mark along to the door, and the headless woman took Mark's other hand. The stump of her neck was completely sealed with skin, as if she never had a head to begin with. She angled her shoulders as if to leer at Mark, giving him a once-over with her nonexistent eyes.

The disturbing sight pushed Mark into Oliver as far as he comfortably could. "What's my prize?" he asked.

Oliver smiled wide. "You're going to meet the big man himself: Mr. Whyte."
Chapter 2- Employee Expectations

Intense shivers rattled Mark's legs. The bullets may as well have pierced the wall, letting the water wash him away for the deathly cold that coursed through the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. Whyte. Oliver's boss. The one who had funded Mark's former employer Rooke and brought that man quivering to his knees, before Rooke had lost his mind and initiated the attack on Golden Springs. And the only person that scared Mark stiff, making him feel like an insect about to be squashed underfoot.

He had expected to run into the man soon but thought he would have a chance to avoid him. Or at least prepare, a chance to steel his nerves so as not to display any weakness before the man.

Oliver tugged him along, brushing his fingers along the wall and chatting Mark up. "I'd ask you to lead, Mark, but either way, it's the blind leading the blind." He grinned at his joke and tilted his head to the woman. "This here's Valerie. Don't think her rude if she doesn't say hello. As you can see, she's not all there at the moment."

"She-she doesn't have a head," Mark said, gawking at her. Her neck rotated to the left. He snapped his mouth shut and turned away, afraid that she could tell he was staring.

"Yeah, she's a lazy one. Couldn't be bothered to stop watching TV." Ahead, there was a lounge and general chatter inside. Oliver led Mark in and presented him to the small group of mercenaries, talking above the large, loud television. "Here he is!" He shoved Mark to the center, abandoning him to the silent stares of all.

A couple of people were in a corner, huddled around a thin woman rocking on a stool and biting her thumb. All in all, she was more shaken than he was. Off to the side, leaning against a cabinet, a bald man glared at Mark. The outline of his body faded in and out, as if he was a projected image and not really there.

Roy sat at a table near the door, sipping a soda, his shockingly blue eyes drifting to Mark for a friendly acknowledgement, then back to the television. The headless body walked over to the sofa in front of the television and plucked a head off the cushion. She reattached it to her body, examined Mark quickly, and sniffed the air disapprovingly. Then she plopped back onto the sofa, kicking up her feet.

"Well don't everyone greet him at once," Oliver said, scratching his shaved scalp. He held Mark by the shoulder and allowed him to lead. "Okay, you've already met Roy." He pointed in a general direction at the door.

"How's it going?" Roy asked. Without the winter gear, he looked pretty average, with curly raven hair, a clean-cut face, and a courteous smile that would be more at home in an office than surrounded by mercenaries. Up close, what struck Mark besides the eyes were his thick, bushy eyebrows. Roy waggled an orange soda from the mini-refrigerator next to him, but Mark declined.

"No need to be shy, Mark," Oliver said, staring to the left of Mark. "We're all BEPs here."

Mark was surprised. Biologically Enhanced Persons? "All of you?"

"Yup," Oliver said. "Roy puts on a pretty impressive light show."

Roy slurped his soda and said, "I'll show you later. I need to be in the sun for it to really work. Whyte should be out soon enough." He pointed at the set of double doors next to the television. "He's on the phone with Emeryl. He's on his way here."

"Oh, Emeryl's out of jail?" Oliver beamed. "Man, why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Just found out as soon as you left to fetch Mark," Roy said, polishing off his soda. He belched and there was a flash of white light in the back of his throat. "Whoa, sorry. Excuse me."

"Alright. C'mon, Mark. Got to introduce you to the rest." But Oliver stayed still, waiting for Mark. The boy looked at Roy, who nodded to Valerie on the sofa.

After they approached Valerie, Oliver reached out, checking the top of her head. She slapped his hand away. "Quit it."

"You've already met the lovely Valerie," he said, teasing her and ruffling her hair. She spun around and swatted his side. Chestnut locks framed a round honey-gold face.

"Yes, we've met. Good-bye and let me watch my show," she said, flicking her wrist in a twirl and waving them off.

"She can detach herself," Oliver said. "Neat, huh?" He leaned down, talking in her ear instead of at Mark. She chewed on one of her locks, grinding it in her teeth. "Any part really, while she retains control of it."

Valerie spat out the lock and ripped off her hand. Like her neck, her wrist's stump was completely sealed. Mark jumped back, unsure what to think. "Happy now? Or do you want another example?" Holding her detached hand in her other one, she used it to pull off her nose, leaving a blank space of skin behind. Then she tossed the hand and nose on the sofa and pulled off her head again. "Would you like me to put on an entire act?" She held her head high in the air. "Do a little Shakespeare?"

"No, no. I'm guessing he's seen enough. Right, Mark?" He didn't answer. Mesmerized by this bizarre display, his mouth had remained open.

"Yoo-hoo, Mark?" He snapped out of his stupor and glanced between Valerie and Oliver.

Valerie tossed her hand onto Oliver's head, where it thwacked him on the top of his noggin with its fingers. "Ow," he said. The hand leapt off, and Valerie stuck it back on her wrist, flexing and twisting it around as if nothing had happened.

The bald man was introduced next. Upon closer inspection, Mark realized that the fading outlines were actually hazy wisps of smoke. The man was not resting on the cabinet but had merged into it. Black smoke circled and pushed out from the point of contact with his back and the cabinet. Some wafted to his chin, pretending to add hair to a chinstrap beard.

"By the smell, I'd say this is Lionel," Oliver said. He swept his hand through Lionel's shoulder. The shoulder broke apart and re-formed immediately. "Guess I just spoiled what he can do. Or what he is." Lionel frowned, shooting daggers at Mark. Oliver seemed to already know this. "Don't mind him though. He always looks like he's passing a stone around everyone. It's all smoke to scare you."

If looks could kill, Lionel's sharp scowl would've gutted Oliver deliberately slowly, savoring every moment. "Keep it up, laughing boy," he said under his breath. Mark was quite relieved to have Lionel's eyes off of him, and he guided Oliver to the last set of people.

The woman rocking on the stool was shaking off all the comforts and assurances from the man and the other woman beside her. "I just know it. He's going to get rid of me. That's why he called me here."

"He called a general meeting for all of us," the man next to her said. He rubbed her back. He realized that Mark was standing there and beckoned him closer. "Speaking of which, this is Mark, the kid he was telling us about, Frieda." He glanced at Mark, his shifting eyes begging for a little help.

After Valerie and Lionel, Mark was too happy to step forward for someone not annoyed by his presence. "Hey." Frieda looked up, her eyes swollen like golf balls. Then her gaze bounced about the room to everyone and everything. She focused on nibbling her finger, chewing the left nub of her nail. Her cheeks sagged with worry, and she kept running hands through her blond hair, pulling out strands until she looked like she had rolled out of bed.

Oliver felt for a chair and lowered himself into it carefully. "What's got Frieda all spooked?"

"Her last assignment," the other woman said. "She thinks Whyte's got it in for her."

"He does! There's no other explanation." Frieda swapped one fingernail for the next. "I'll be fired."

"Oh, he'll do much worse than that," Lionel chimed in, smiling for the first time. His mouth wavered like the rest of his body, and black wisps filtered through his teeth. He spoke with a wheeze, like a wad of ash clogging most of his throat. "Unspeakable things."

"Can it, you fart cloud," the guy said. Mark coughed to cover his laugh. Lionel went on smiling and watched the double doors.

Before Oliver could introduce the other two members, Whyte opened the doors and entered. In person, he was not as tall as Mark had imagined. Outlined fully in the light did nothing to diminish his intimidating presence. The air in the room changed, and everyone adopted a sober attitude. Even Oliver, more or less.

Whyte tugged the sleeves down on his white suit and tightened the knot in his tie. His deep, dark eyes appraised everyone. His streaked black hair was tied back into a ponytail, and a well-trimmed beard completed the ensemble. He seemed to embody the very image of opulence and wealth, a man of high status in the world that commanded respect.

But beneath those eyes lurked a side Mark knew very well. The side that had merely snapped at Rooke, thus transforming him into a pleading coward who prostrated himself like a worm before this man. A cunning, vicious part of Whyte that Mark hoped to steer clear of. He shirked into the corner of the room, but unfortunately Whyte spotted him.

"Markus Bell. How nice of you to join us." He gripped Mark's hand firmly and crushed it, giving a short shake. "It's good to meet you in person. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I'm Roland Whyte," he said, holding out his arm and offering him a place on the sofa. Valerie switched off the television and scooted over for Mark. "Everyone, this is Mark, who you might remember from the unpleasant business in Golden Springs. He decided to stay onboard with our group. A wise decision, I might add."

Knock, knock. Emeryl rapped on the open door to the hall. He approached Whyte, who greeted him. "Speaking of which, here's another one from Golden Springs. Welcome back. How was your trip?"

"Fine, sir," Emeryl said. Mark noticed that his right hand was missing its middle finger. "Glad to be out of jail."

"Yes, I'm sure." He turned from Emeryl to Mark. "This is Mark. You might remember him from Golden Springs."

Emeryl snapped his fingers. "Oh, right. The one with Finster and Heather. Glad you made it out."

"Thanks," Mark said. Emeryl appeared to have come straight from jail, wearing a heavy five o'clock shadow, his long, ratty hair a disorderly mess.

"Please, if you'll take a seat, we can begin," Whyte said. Emeryl sat next to Mark and Whyte faced them all. "I didn't call this meeting solely as a 'meet and greet.' As most of you are aware, Golden Springs put a damper on our operations. We had to lay low these past few months because of Rooke, and it has cost a great deal of time and money to sort it all out. Not to mention Rooke Pharmaceuticals's operations being all but shut down for the time being."

He paced in front of the television. "Now, Rooke's breakdown was no one's fault but his own. We will be vigilant about who runs our companies in the future. However, there is one thing we could've prevented, and that was Rooke's exposing himself as the leader behind the attack." Whyte stopped and looked down at Emeryl. "It was supposed to be carried out covertly, yet Rooke broadcasted his message all throughout the city. Why?"

Emeryl cleared his throat. "We had to do something. He already had a speech set up, and we were spread thin over the city. People kept trying to escape, and we couldn't contain them all for long by ourselves."

"And the fact that he had a speech ready didn't raise any alarms?" Whyte asked.

"He claimed that his involvement in it was already known, that the BEP Division was coming after him." Emeryl licked his lips. "There wasn't any reason to doubt him at the time, sir. They did come after him. A large group of them left to raid one of his factories."

Whyte nodded. "Okay. I think I'm following your logic on this. Except that we've covered up our involvement in incidents like this before and we could've again. We could have held onto the company. A pharmaceutical company, especially one as large as Rooke's, is very useful to have." His voice rose and Emeryl squirmed in his seat. The others in the room lowered their heads, trying not to catch Whyte's eyes. Mark followed suit, watching Whyte's pace quicken.

"Now," Whyte said, faking a laugh, "now, at best, Rooke Pharmaceuticals will be liquidated. None of his behavior prompted you to question him or check the SN91 canisters?"

"Like I said, there wasn't any reason to doubt him then. We were short on people and needed to maintain order any way we could. And we were focused on containing the people and preparing for the FBI," Emeryl said lamely, clasping his hands.

"Yes, and you did as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. And you stayed silent after your capture. You and all your people didn't give up on us or on Overwatch. That's why I pulled a lot of strings, to free both you and them. That kind of loyalty is invaluable. The rest of your team should arrive within the week."

"I appreciate it," Emeryl said, relaxing. "I want to get back out there."

"I'm sure you do." Whyte pointed to Emeryl's hand. "You lost more than just the fight." The mercenary held out his four-fingered hand. "Given how you handled the Golden Springs fiasco, I'm going to equip you with something to help. An enhancement, so that when you run into the person who caused that, you can take them down." He helped Emeryl up and showed him the door. "Head to medical room #18. Dr. Curry is waiting for you. And Emeryl?"

"Yes?"

"I trust you'll be more careful and there will be no more mistakes?"

He nodded. "None, sir."

"Glad to hear it. I'll drop by later to see how you're doing." Emeryl thanked him and left. Then Whyte turned to Mark. "Loyalty is very valuable to have, Mark. I treasure that and expect to receive it from each of my employees. If you're loyal, you'll be taken care of."

Before Mark became too antsy under his eye, he turned his attention to Frieda. "Loyalty and honesty. Two of the principles I demand." He tilted Frieda's head up and sighed. "What happened on your mission out there?" As she opened her mouth, he held a solemn finger to her lips. "Tell me the truth this time."

She deflated. "I ran into a BEP agent."

"And initiated a firefight with him in broad daylight?"

"No! No!" She shook her head, her body shaking on her stool. He grabbed her shoulder firmly, steadying her. "No, I tried to follow him. I thought if—"

"If you captured him, you could discover the BEP Division's base," Whyte finished. He knelt down to her level and squeezed her shoulder. "That would be wonderful, plucking that particular thorn out of our side. What happened?"

"He caught onto me," she said.

"Were you following too close?"

"No. I don't think so." Whyte didn't seem convinced at her answer and sighed. "I managed to blow him back into an alley," Frieda said, "but he fought his way out."

Mark raised an eyebrow and looked at Roy, who mouthed, "Wind powers."

"He called over a couple of cops. I had to shoot one and take the other hostage," Frieda continued. "And I shot the agent. I wasn't sure if he was dead or not. I hightailed it out of there with the hostage. Left him in a car by the road. I heard the agent was in critical condition, and then this morning, they said he died."

Whyte stood up and massaged his forehead. "So, not only did the agent catch onto you, you started a fight in public, which ended with a dead cop, an agent who died this morning, and your face plastered on the news. That about sum it up?"

She hung her head in shame. "Yeah," she whispered.

Whyte took a few moments, composing himself and wiping his face. "I see. I see." He raised his head to the ceiling and puffed out a weary breath. "I'm glad you were honest. For now, you're on inactive duty until further notice." He gave her a stern look that said they would discuss the rest of her punishment later.

"You see, Mark?" Whyte asked him. The boy jumped in his seat and tensed up. "I'd rather have the truth than lies. Lies waste time and money. It breaks my trust. There can be no efficient employee-employer relationship without trust. I need to trust that you will be honest with me, and in return you'll earn my trust and I'll be honest with you."

He walked behind Mark and rested his hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the sofa. "Can I trust you to be honest with me?"

Mark's tongue grew fat in his mouth. "Yes."

"Excellent." Whyte clapped him on the back and pulled him to his feet, shaking his hand. "Welcome to the family." Oliver and a few others politely applauded. "Guess I've lost my lucky seven advantage," he laughed, looking at everyone. Whyte escorted Mark out of the lounge. "But I believe Mark here will make up for it. Don't you think so?"

"Yeah!" Oliver said, wobbling when he stood. Roy held his hand and led him out the door. The rest started to file out as well. Frieda urged her two friends on, wiping her eyes and promising that she was fine. Whyte waited off to the side for everyone to exit.

"Oh, there is one other thing I expect my employees to have," Whyte said as Frieda, and then her friends left last. "You know what that is?" Mark shook his head. "Competence."

Whyte grabbed Frieda by her throat and shoved her back into the lounge. Then he opened a panel next to the door, exposing a control box and various buttons. He slammed a large yellow button labeled EMERGENCY SEPARATION, and the metal door snapped shut, trapping Frieda by herself.

She screamed, "No!" into the small porthole on the door and beat her fists on it "No! No! Please!" A thicker, windowless door slid shut over the first and there was a loud chunk! The floor beneath them rumbled and what sounded like several locks clicked.

"As long as you prove yourself useful and perform your job as well as can be expected, I'll forgive the occasional slipup. Otherwise..." Metal shifted on metal beyond the door, and there was a sudden whoosh of water from the outside, as if something was ejected. Frieda's protests gradually faded, followed by absolute silence. Mark shuddered and moved closer to Oliver.

"Looks like we're back to our lucky seven," Whyte said. "Valerie, call Communications and tell them to ignore the emergency beacon. Also, order a new office and lounge." Valerie moseyed down the hall to an intercom and asked for Communications. "Now, how about a tour?" Whyte took the lead and the others followed. "Welcome, Mark, to Overwatch Headquarters."
Chapter 3- Fire and Flowers

Inch by inch, step by step, Lydia slithered along the high wall of the wooden pillar. She carefully kept her chalk-white, metal skeletal braces from scraping the smooth wood. Only the rubber-padded joints of her leg and arm braces touched the pillar's wall, and she slunk as softly as her sneakers allowed. She peeked out from around the corner and saw nothing. Nothing but rows of similar ten-foot-high, two-man-wide wooden pillars, arranged disjointedly and forming a snaking column to the room's end, with spaces between each pillar as wide as the pillars themselves.

Lydia cursed her speed. I've lost Sylvia. She bent over, running her fingers along her right leg brace. It felt out of alignment, like it was twisting into her skin. And since all the braces helped cushion her bones when using her enhanced strength, that put one leg out of commission. Unless she wanted to risk breaking the bones. Not that the braces helped her bones absorb her maximum strength anyway. She still had to be cautious and use only a fraction of her power, but this hampered her. The pain served as a constant reminder to not use her leg and damage the brace anymore.

She brushed back her chestnut bangs and craned her neck out farther, searching the rows of columns. Raising her head, she caught a pair of dull hazel eyes atop the pillar she was against. The boy who they belonged to crouched low and crawled down, holding onto the flat lip of the block and glancing at her. He closed his eyes and let go, floating steadily to the floor. Lydia helped him land beside her, touching his arm for support. With feet firmly on the ground, he pointed farther ahead and to the left. Lydia nodded and waited at the corner, keeping a careful watch and selecting a pillar closer to the room's matted walls.

Strangely, the boy stayed behind, lingering in a trance and staring at her. Move! she internally commanded, motioning urgently. He snapped out of his daze and leapt into the air. He picked her up by her armpits and carried her to the next pillar, dropping her quietly.

The boy looked up and held a silent breath. Lydia put her hand on his shoulder, checking him and raising a questioning thumbs-up. He returned a tentative one and grimaced, flying high as her fingers slipped down his arm. He seemed all too eager to reach the top, scrambling onto the surface and kicking the pillar in his haste. Lydia tensed, waiting until the blunt thuds died down. She cast him an irritable look, but he had already pulled back from the edge.

Together, they searched the column beside the wall and saw no sign of their target. When he reappeared, he shook his head and Lydia copied him. She pointed to herself and to the right, then at the boy and to the left. Nodding, he took off, leapfrogging in short flights pillar by pillar.

Moving back to the other side, Lydia checked the corner and dashed into a spot swallowed in shadow. She continued heading right and happened upon a boy standing stock-still in the open. Lydia dove from cover to cover until she was next to him. He seemed like a model, posing for the cameras, and certainly fit the bill physically as well with his bronze athletic build.

He motioned with his gaze west. She gave a small nod and stepped lively to the other side of the room. Once there, she found the one who had been flying frozen in place on the ground, too, his legs spread apart in mid-stride, and his squashed, broken nose scrunched farther into its angle in frustration.

Lydia slipped around a pillar and right into the arms of her target. The taller woman touched Lydia's forehead and smiled. "That makes three. You can move now," she called to the others. The flying boy glided over to them and the other jogged around until he found the right row.

"Now," Sylvia said, brushing a loose strand of raven hair from her tanned face and retying it into her ponytail. "Where did you go wrong?"

"We should've all gone to the edge, one in the middle and two on the ends, and worked our way inward when we lost you," Aidan, the floating boy, said.

"Good idea, Mr. Keyes, but your actual mistake was simpler than that."

"We lost track of you?" Lydia tried.

"That's right, Ms. Penner," Sylvia said. "Don't lose track of your target. Even if you can't see them, know where they are and where they'll be. Anticipate their movements."

"Easy for you to say," Jando, the athletic boy, said. "All you have to do is touch the wall and you can hear our footsteps." He had a point. One touch of a surface and Sylvia heard the reverberations in the object through her fingertips. Even turning her fingertips toward a conversation was akin to cocking an ear for most people, and was much more subtle.

"And you have three people searching for one person in one room. You won't always have such good advantages," she said. "You won't always have advantages, period."

"Sylvia?" a voice asked from the intercoms near the high ceiling.

"Yes?" the woman answered, holding out her fingertips to listen.

"Arthur would like to see you when you're available."

"Tell him I'll be right up."

"Think we'll learn how to hotwire a car soon?" Jando asked. "Or defuse bombs?"

Sylvia turned back to the three with a smirk. "Sure. Once you get the basics down. That's enough for today."

Lydia, Aidan, and Jando left the training area and the gray, window-lined Center behind them. The three of them dragged their feet down the asphalt path and to the off-white dormitory building separated by a parking lot and an uphill climb. "What happened back there?" Jando asked Aidan. He waved to a group of people playing football on one of the grass fields next to the dormitories. A couple of girls catcalled to him and he returned it. "You were supposed to be our eye in the sky."

"I was watching," Aidan shot back. "Sylvia's a ghost in there."

"You'll need to step it up, Seagull," Jando said, wagging a finger. Aidan glared darkly at him. He hated that nickname. "I know it was your first time in there, but you can't keep spacing out on us."

"Ease up a little, Jando," Lydia said. "Aidan did alright."

Aidan smiled gratefully, but she meant it. Already, he was competing with Jando and Lydia, thanks especially to their injuries, which had delayed their own progress. To help them heal quickly and return to active training, Lydia and Jando had each taken Barrett Juice, a mixture Dr. Barrett derived from a previous BEP's blood, which could expedite the recovery of broken bones and torn muscle. Even after the Barrett Juice had healed them in a couple of weeks after all three teenagers helped save Golden Springs, however, Barrett had forbade Jando and Lydia from any strenuous activity for a week longer as a precaution. Lydia didn't discount Aidan's hard work though. Ever since he turned sixteen and immediately joined them in the BEP Division's agent training at the beginning of April, he had put in a lot of effort during the past few weeks to catch up to them.

Jando had a point, too, though. Aidan had been out of sorts since Golden Springs. Lydia figured it was aftershock from the event, but after joining their training, it worsened. Sometimes he fidgeted nonstop. In a few instances, he stammered incessantly. Mostly, he lost his focus and spaced out, even outside of training while they all hung out. If anyone asked what was bothering him, he clammed up and insisted, "It's nothing."

Yet Lydia was happy to have another friendly face on the team and eagerly welcomed him. Jando had gone out of his way to do the same, baking a dozen cupcakes for Aidan when he joined them on his birthday a couple of weeks ago. He had given Aidan the cupcakes a day early, and the whole dozen turned out to be an April Fool's prank. The "icing" on the cupcakes was actually toothpaste. "There is one made with real icing," Jando had assured him. Aidan didn't bother to find out which cupcake had the icing before throwing the whole batch away.

His other presents were more authentic. Lydia had given him a shirt with the logo of his favorite band. Her roommate, Wren, chipped in, too, and bought Aidan a board game, and Donny, their friend, sprang for a book.

Wren was napping when Lydia entered their dorm room. Her legs hung off her bed and her torso was tangled in the sheets. Lydia bid farewell to Jando and Aidan, who hung back in the hall, staring at his shoes and running a hand through his dirty blond hair. He looked lost, unsure whether to climb the stairs to his and Jando's room or not.

She checked her plants growing in the window sill beside her bed. During the past months in the Cave, her gardening abilities had improved, and she had learned from the first set. Since then, each of her plants had at least sprouted. Most grew well. At the moment, a pair of potted flowers had bloomed into beautiful yellow and pink tulips. The third one in the middle was still indecisive, but she had hopes for it. Tomorrow, she would give the blooming ones to Aidan and Jando.

Dad would be proud, she thought, fingering one of the petals. She imagined him beside her, praising the flowers and her skill. "Your green thumb finally came out," he would say with a large smile. "Why don't you get your camera and take a picture of them for your mom? Then let's show them off to everyone." She nodded to the voice in her mind and wiped her wet eyes.

Lydia dug out her camera from her dresser and snapped a picture. When she looked at it, her thoughts drifted to the flowers at her father's funeral. What kind had been put on his grave since the official funeral? The picture of his gravestone that her mother, Debra, sent her a while ago, after everyone else paid their respects, had been adorned with all colors of flowers. And her mother regularly added fresh ones. Maybe Lydia could grow some flowers and send them to her mother to arrange around the gravestone, make it nice and pleasant.

Nice and pleasant. A cold, hard, dead piece of earth nice and pleasant? A place where her father shouldn't be to begin with, if not for those scum-sucking piles of—

Lydia stopped herself and that line of thinking. Deep breath. Don't let it get the best of you. She tried to focus on a past memory with her father, playing in a park when she was young. Then she rummaged through her dresser for fresh clothes.

While she changed out of her clothes, the telephone on her nightstand rang. She quickly answered it before it woke Wren. "Hello?"

"Arthur would like to see you as soon as possible," a man said.

"Okay. Be there in a bit." She checked her braces as she headed to the door. The right leg brace pinched her thigh worse now. Lydia wiggled it around, pulling her skin free, and then made a mental note to visit Brentle after she saw Arthur.

Arthur was in his office, packing a briefcase that lay open next to a couple of suitcases. He looked up when Lydia came in and smoothed his shirt down his barrel chest. "Be right with you," he said, with a touch of an English accent.

During her time at the Cave, Arthur seemed to have aged rapidly, but being the head of the BEP Division would likely speed anyone's aging process. There were a few more wrinkles to his coal-colored forehead than last year, making him look as haggard as his eyes, which held the color of ancient tree stumps. Although Lydia attributed most of his aged appearance to his thick hair. It was grayer than when she'd first met him, with hardly any black spots left, the same as the stubble on his chin and cheeks. She supposed he dyed his hair before and wondered why he stopped now.

Lydia thought it rude to stare, so she directed her gaze to the pile of folders on his desk. Among them was a birthday card addressed to Arthur. "It's your birthday?" she asked.

"Tomorrow," he said, snapping the briefcase shut.

"Oh, Happy Birthday, then."

"Thanks."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"After your fiftieth, you stop throwing a fanfare and hope the Grim Reaper forgets you," he said, chuckling. "And before you ask, fifty-eight. Yes, I know I'm old." He rooted in his desk drawers, pulling out other files and flipping through them. "Don't deny it. You're not the only one who keeps staring at my hair and giving me that look."

Lydia blushed. "What look?"

"That look you give your granddad when you think he should slow down," he said, grinning. "I just stopped dyeing it is all. No sense in it anymore. At forty, you worry about it, adding touch-ups and fighting to keep your color; at fifty, you're covering most of your head, but losing control; and around sixty, you just accept it."

She grinned and wiggled her right leg, adjusting it so the brace didn't dig into her thigh. "I'll remember that. Is that all you called me for?"

"No, no. I wanted to let you know that I'm impressed with your training. So when I get back, we're going to have you and Jando out in the field. Possibly Aidan as well." He sat at his desk, and she pulled up a chair as well. She slipped her leg out of the brace a little, relieving the pressure.

"To act as actual agents?" she asked hopefully.

He chuckled. "Not quite. You'll still be under Sylvia. She'll guide you and you'll shadow her on an easy mission. It's designed to give you some field experience. But we'll discuss all that when I return."

"Going on vacation?"

"Visiting my daughter," he said. Lydia tried not to show too much surprise, but she failed when he pulled out a wedding ring from his desk and shoved it onto his finger. It was much too small for him. "She sent me the card."

Lydia couldn't help blurting out, "You're married, too?" She half expected him to reveal another shocking fact, such as secretly being a BEP.

"I was once. We decided we work better divorced." He twisted and pulled the ring off, shaking blood back into his finger. "Need to get this resized."

"Why wear it?" Lydia asked.

"For my daughter. We both do it for her. Planning to surprise her at her graduation." He stood and checked his suitcases. "And if I hope to make it, I need to leave this instant."

"College?"

"Yeah. She's receiving her doctorate. Tried to get her to follow me, but she wanted to be like her mother instead."

Lydia stepped back into her brace, the pressure bearing down again. "Tell her I said 'Congratulations.'"

"I will," he said. "Hold down the fort while I'm gone."

She hobbled to the elevator, rode it to the bottom floor, and sought out Brentle. The chief technician was in his office alone and on the phone, whispering low. When she entered, he frantically set down the phone and shooed her away. "Sorry, can't be bothered right now. Buying new equipment and I have to act before it's gone."

"It's my brace." She showed him the part of the wire frame pressing into her leg.

"Should be a simple adjustment. Go see Dr. McNeal. I really have to deal with this. Sorry again." Then he shut her out and locked his office.

Dr. McNeal was Barrett's replacement, filling in as temporary head doctor while Barrett visited family. The kindly old man welcomed Lydia in and easily fixed the brace, fiddling with the part over her kneecap and the crisscrossing of the metal bars above it. "Looks like it fell out of place here. No biggie." Afterward, he checked the rest of her braces, from the rubber cushions to the openings for her limbs, and then sent her off, warning her to be careful in the future. "Come back if there are any other problems." She thanked him and headed back to her dorm.

At her door, she found Aidan, muttering to himself and scratching his head. "Leave a letter?" He rapped his forehead with his knuckles. "Come back later?" Both options appeared to frustrate him and he growled, shutting his eyes and smacking his face. "C'mon."

"Should I schedule you an appointment with Gary, or are you too far gone?" Lydia asked, walking around him and opening the door.

"Oh, Lydia!" he stammered. "I, uh, needed to, uh..." He trailed off, "um"ing and "er"ing while looking up and down the hall.

Lydia picked up the blooming flowers from the window sill and handed the yellow tulip to him. "Here, deep breath," she said, raising her hands to her chest and inhaling deeply. "Get that oxygen and then let it out." He smirked and shook his head, but he did sniff the flower. "That one's for you. Can you give the other to Jando?" she asked, passing him the pink one.

"Sure. Thanks." Aidan bounced the potted plants in his hands, as if testing their weight. "What's the occasion?"

"No reason. Just felt like it." He kept looking at the flowers, his brows furrowed in concentration. Lydia coughed. "You needed something?"

His head jerked up. "Yes, I, uh, wanted to ask you if...Iffff." Closing his eyes, Aidan dug his feet into the ground and smelled his flower again.

"If?" she prodded.

"If you weren't busy today, maybe we could hang out." She stared at him, unsure what he meant. "Like watch a movie together or whatever you'd like to do." He cleared his throat. "Just you and me."

Her mind's light bulb flipped on and her mouth dropped as she caught his meaning. "Oh," was all she could muster. A date. Aidan was asking her out on a date. She watched him closely, but he couldn't meet her gaze, fidgeting and burying his nose into his tulip.

As if to confirm, the signs played in her memory, one after the other. Over the weeks, he had made a point to hang around her more often after training, offering to study with her for tests, and coming to church with her sometimes. His accompanying her to church had surprised her, as had his presence the first few times before that, when he slipped in alone, trying to go unnoticed. When she confronted him, he had written it off. "I figured I would check it out. You did invite me, remember?" That was true. She had, months ago, but it was still strange. Although she had slight suspicions of some minor indications of affection beginning from New Year's, she never paid much thought to them or to his other behavior, since nothing serious came of them. Until now.

Had this been what bothered him so much during the past few months and what explained his odd antics? Working up the nerve to ask her out? Then another revelation hit her. Is that why he signed up to be an agent? The news had shocked everyone when he first announced his joining. When she asked why he wanted to stay in the Cave longer, he mumbled some excuse about refusing to join his parents' tour guide business. "Beats working there. I can either fall on mats here or fall on rocks hiking there," he said. This response was a little odd, after he had flat-out declared how much he hated the Cave, but it made some sense, so she didn't press the issue.

Now, she wondered if that had inspired him to sign on, as some sort of means to increase his chances with her. Lydia couldn't tell. All she knew was that he looked expectantly at her, waiting for an answer. "I," she started, as uncertain how to word her response as he had his question, "I don't think that's a good idea."

His worried expression drooped, and she leaned down to catch his sagging arms. With the flowers safely raised, she hastily appended her decision. "It's just that Arthur wants us to start actual field training soon." That did little to change his mood. "And with school exams coming up, it's not really a good time. And," she bit her lip, afraid this would be overkill to his dashed hopes—He shouldn't have false ones though. "And I'm not sure if I feel the same way."

After a long silence, he bobbed his head. "I see." His head didn't stop moving as he turned. From the side, his angled nose seemed to withdraw into his face in shame. "I should be going. I remembered I have an exam I should be studying for."

"Hey," Lydia grabbed his shoulder, "it's not anything against you."

"Yeah, yeah. I understand." He smiled, but it was fake and plastic.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Really, it was a fifty-fifty shot, right?" He tugged away from her and held up the plants. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome." She stayed by the door as he walked to the staircase. "Good luck on your exam."

"Thanks. You, too." He climbed the stairs, every step a heavy plod. Their echoing plops came slower and slower until Lydia shut the door. She sat on her bed and rubbed her eyes, feeling suddenly drained and worn out.

* * *

Mark hardly paid any attention to the beginning of his tour. He still reeled from Frieda's demise and viewed every room in the base with a suspicious glance. He stayed apart from Whyte, although he was still forced near the front of the group. Oliver held onto him for support, which didn't exactly ease his comfort as much as it kept his antsy squirming to a minimum.

Little phrases trickled through, which may as well have been white noise. Whyte boasted about the Overwatch bases and research stations scattered throughout the world, their mercenary forces, and their business ventures for companies and countries. "Built it from the ground up myself. Solid investments in corporations and adapting to the changing market. That's the key." All this filtered into one of Mark's ears and out the other as Frieda's frightened begging. Residue bits and pieces of information were left behind that he paid no heed to.

When he finally returned to the present, they were passing the sleeping quarters. Whyte was discussing their contracts for various countries. "Yemen finally came around and employed us recently, thanks to the SN91. If only the U.S. would be as cooperative. Oh, yes. You'll be rooming with Oliver and Lionel."

"We'll be bunk buddies!" Oliver shook Mark's shoulder.

The first pressing question on Mark's mind was why he had never been told about Overwatch. However, he arranged the phrasing more diplomatically to Whyte. "How come Rooke never said anything about Overwatch?"

"So as not to be connected," Whyte said. "I have shares in companies all over the world. If I can help it, I keep each company separate and distinct from the others as much as possible. Helps minimize any potential damage to them from situations like Golden Springs. You're part of a special group."

"I am?"

"Yes," he said, as they passed by several medical rooms. Briefly he indicated them as, "the medical wing." In room eighteen, horrible screams slipped out that sounded like Emeryl's. "You're one of the few people who know that I run Overwatch directly. It's the only one that I personally oversee. You're also one of the few people to have come here. Rooke never even knew where this base was, much less set foot here."

"And here is?"

"In the Pacific." That's all Whyte would say on the subject.

Eventually, they arrived at a section of research laboratories. Men and women in white coats were studying various kinds of liquids, and it all reminded Mark of Rooke Pharmaceuticals. "Germ warfare and medicine have been a tremendous help in securing contracts and also with finances," Whyte said as they entered. "Be careful in here. Don't want to have a contamination leak." Mark's arms snapped to his side and he made himself thin, maintaining his distance from all the equipment.

An older doctor greeted them. Her skin stretched taut across her face, forcing her lips into a permanent smile. "Hello, Mr. Whyte."

"Dr. Sullivan, how goes everything?"

"Well, Dr. Yonkers," she said, pointing to a younger, already-balding man typing on a computer, "and I are still working on the formulas." She guided Whyte to the computer, pointing at the screen. They were almost out of Mark's hearing, but he caught snatches of Rooke's name. He assumed they were studying the SN91 or the strength-invulnerability formula that Rooke had created. Perhaps both. Whyte nodded and hummed at first, and then turned away from the screen after a few more moments, annoyed and in deep discussion with Sullivan.

Mark thought he heard "we need another sample" above the bubbling beakers next to him. Perhaps "not enough DNA" as well, but he was still experiencing flashes of Frieda's crying to be released. "Not much chance of that," Whyte said, walking back to the group. "Keep on it."

"Yes, Mr. Whyte."

On the last part of their tour, Whyte pointed out the cafeteria and the elevators. Mark memorized the exact location of the latter, a difficult task, as one metal hallway looked the same as the next. He planned to sneak to the top of the base later. Could find a boat or something and get out of here.

By the tour's end, it was late in the evening and Whyte released Mark. Oliver took the opportunity to introduce him to the last two members of the group: a rough woman with a permanent expression of disgust and battle scars etched on her face, and a serious man who scratched his goatee; both seemed unimpressed with Mark and his power.

With a flourish of his hand, Oliver said, "I give you Sheila and Anton. She can make herself a suit of armor with nearby dirt and rocks. Very heavy, but she manages well enough," he said. "And Anton here can manipulate electricity. Give him a quick peek, Ant."

Neither looked particularly in the mood for entertaining Mark. More on the verge of lashing out, and their thoughts seemed elsewhere. Anton bowed out of the offer. "Thanks, but I should probably get to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"Right you are," Oliver said, searching for and grabbing Mark's hand. "Tomorrow then. Mind escorting me back to our room?"

Reluctantly, Mark guided him, hoping he could sneak back to the elevator after Oliver fell asleep. Unfortunately, Lionel followed them, walking ahead. No, not walking. His feet shuffled silently above the floor, his toes draping against the metal and distorting upon touching it.

"Don't mind Sheila and Anton," Oliver said. "They're real down to earth people and are de-lighted to have you on board." He nudged Mark's ribs and chuckled.

"Were Sheila and Anton close to Frieda?" Mark asked.

"As close as can be. We were brothers- and sisters-in-arms." He dragged his fingers on the wall. "A group of elementals within the group. Electricity, earth, wind, fire." He thumbed himself. "All we were missing was water. Now wind, too. Don't suppose you have any hidden water or wind powers?"

Mark shook his head, and then remembered it was Oliver. "No."

"Shame. I liked Frieda though."

"She was a screwup," Lionel commented.

"That she was, but she did try her best. She could really blow up a party." He elbowed Mark, grinning.

"We had to carry her on every assignment." Lionel turned back and eyed Mark. "We better not have to do the same with you."

"Nah, the way Finster told it, Mark's a stalwart guy. 'The Wall,' from what I hear. Nice name," Oliver said while Lionel snorted. "Heh, I still miss Finster, too." They entered their room and Mark led Oliver to one of the two bunk beds pressed against either side of the wall.

"You knew Finster?" he asked.

"Knew him? We were thick as thieves, we were!" Oliver ducked his head and sat down on the bottom bunk. He removed his sunglasses, folding them up. Only then did Mark see his eyelids. They were nearly a transparent orange, the fire behind them raging and ready to rush out, as if to consume Mark and expose the Achilles' heel of his invulnerability to the world. Mark shivered and averted his gaze.

"And thick as Neanderthals," Lionel said.

"We always had a blast on our assignments before he was assigned to Rooke," Oliver said, ignoring him. "Never did expect him to die like that. But it's bound to happen in this job. Just another part of nature." He grabbed a roll of masking tape and tore off two pieces, taping his eyelids down.

"What's that for?"

"So I don't wake up and burn another hole through the bed," he said, lying down. Mark checked underneath the top bunk and gaped at the charred spots on the bars supporting the mattress. He gulped. "I get nightmares sometimes." The tape didn't seem sturdy and despite adding a couple of more layers to his lids, they already peeled at the corners. What if they came off? Dying might be a part of nature, but Mark didn't want that to be the first thing that happened in the morning.

He checked the other bunk as Lionel floated to the top, staking his claim. Lionel lay down on the top mattress, his back dispersing and flattening him. He rolled over to Mark, daring him to consider taking the bottom bunk beneath him.

"Do you, uh, have anything sturdier to use for your eyes?" he asked Oliver.

"What, like a pair of special glasses to block the fire?" He chuckled. "I wish. It'd be nice to open my eyes once and not incinerate everything. But being able to incinerate everything is a pretty cool trade-off."

"Why not sleep on the top bunk if you have problems burning a hole in it?"

"I sometimes roll off the bed. Relax," he said, patting Mark's leg, "you'll be fine. Worst you'll get is falling through the mattress anyway, right?"

Mark searched the rest of the room, wondering if there was anything else he could sleep on. Other than a shared bathroom, a desk, and a closet, the room was pretty sparse. "Not quite the same as your own apartment," Lionel chided. Mark couldn't raise suspicion, so he carefully climbed onto the top bunk above Oliver and set himself down on the thin, stiff mattress, afraid the tiniest movement would trigger Oliver to open his eyes wide. He turned his back to Lionel and stared at the wall, willing himself to fall asleep and not dwell on being burned to a crisp at any moment.
Chapter 4- Field Experience

A set of sluggish emerald eyes stared back at Lydia in the foggy mirror. The steam from the shower made her bangs stick to her olive-skinned forehead. She leaned her weight on the sink, groaning. School starts too early. Last night, she had trouble falling asleep, as Aidan's face, crushed from her rejection, glued her gaze to the ceiling, until she blocked out the guilt long enough to drift off. It wasn't her fault if she didn't immediately return his feelings, but that didn't ease the pangs when she thought of him retreating yesterday, his tail between his legs.

Wren flung her head out of the shower, her mass of auburn-red hair slapping the door like a wet rag. "Could you hand me my towel, please?" Lydia tossed the towel to her. "What's up? You look like you failed a test. You didn't, did you?" She hopped out, her towel wrapped around herself and her face right in Lydia's. "Don't tell me you did. Did you? You'll need to do really well on the exam then! 'Cause if you don't, you'll fail and we won't be in the same class! Do you want to form a study group? Get a tutor?"

"No, Wren. It's nothing like that. It's," she struggled and shook her head. Lydia didn't feel like involving anyone else for Aidan's sake. And she knew Wren would ask a million questions and possibly nag her to give him a chance, neither of which she had the strength for right now. "It's nothing," she repeated. "C'mon. We're going to be late."

What puzzled her the most was, why her? Sure, she and Aidan were close. But there were plenty of girls in the Cave. Some without troublesome abilities, some better looking. And not as freakishly large, she thought, looking at her muscular arms. Then again, Aidan couldn't strike up a conversation with any of them like Jando could. Convenience, then? No, that didn't seem like Aidan.

Whatever his reasons, she couldn't deny that his attraction made her feel special. It was different from the compliments Jando always paid her and every other girl. She hadn't given much thought to dating after the accident that transformed her, seeing it as something that would be difficult in her life from then on. A bridge that she would cross when she got to it. But now Aidan asked freely, without her trying, and meant it completely. Her chest fluttered that someone didn't see an oddity, but a person they wanted to ask, knowing full well about her and the consequences of her strength. It reassured any past worries about dating and offered a hopeful outlook, warming her body with a fuzzy sensation.

On their way to class, Wren bounded in front of Lydia, her pair of water bottles bouncing on her hips as she walked backward. She never had to look behind her as they walked through the lit sea-blue halls of the Center. "So when is your mom supposed to be here?"

"Soon. Sometime today," Lydia said. She was happy when the visits were increased to at least once a month, and she had been counting down the days until today.

It had been some time since the last visit. Her mother had been busy moving and setting up her start-up law practice out of her new home, after resigning from her previous firm. The BEP Division helped Debra locate a smaller house and sell the old house, all for a safety precaution against future threats, after she had been kidnapped once with Lydia's father, and then had their hometown of Golden Springs threatened in a terrorist attack not long after that. "I don't need all that room for myself anyway," Debra told Lydia in one of her letters. She also mentioned some big surprise she was bringing to make up for the fewer letters during the move.

"And you have no idea what the surprise is that she's bringing?" Wren asked.

"You know as much as I do." In one of the Center's training rooms, a younger class of BEPs was running through some exercises.

"Can't wait to meet your mom again. I liked her."

"Shocking. You like almost everyone. Jando wants me to meet his family, too."

"You'll like them. They're really nice," Wren said.

"Speaking of which, I want to meet your family sometime. How come they never visit?"

Wren raised her arms high in an overexaggerated shrug. "You know how it is. Some people's families can't come 'cause they're super busy." Lydia had never considered that and pity sprang up in her for Wren and the others like her. "But Daniel keeps me up-to-date with everything in his letters, and I'll be out of here in no time anyway."

"Oh, right. Your brother."

The intercoms in the Center crackled to life. "Will Lydia Penner and Jando Oliveira please report to the second floor of the Center?"

"That's your cue," Wren said. "I'll see you later." She continued on to class while Lydia changed paths to the elevators.

On the stark-white and brightly lit second floor, Sylvia met her and led her to a conference room, where Lydia's mother was waiting, looking prim, proper, and every bit the professional lawyer she was, despite trading her blazer and skirt for a blouse and jeans for this visit. Her deep-brown hair had been curled recently at the tips, and her warm eyes matched her daughter's in color and joy. In addition, beside her was a good friend of Lydia's.

"Dariela!" Lydia squealed and ran to her, embracing the girl. She picked her up off her feet and swung her around.

"Agh! Too tight!" Dariela said, wheezing. Her blue eyes widened into saucers and she slapped Lydia's back repeatedly.

Lydia dropped her and scratched her head. "Sorry. Guess I forgot my own strength."

Dariela rubbed her chest, grinning painfully. "That's an understatement."

She hadn't changed much since Lydia had last seen her. Back when she first escaped the Cave to save her parents. Has it been that long? Dariela had grown taller, but so had Lydia, leaving her with a few inches on her friend. The purple in Dariela's hair faded away, left only at the tips, and she sported one long, off-center red streak from front to back instead, which matched her red ripped shirt, exposing a tight black shirt underneath. "What are you doing here?"

Dariela put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "Some greeting."

Rolling her eyes, Lydia playfully shoved her. "You know what I mean."

"Ask her." Dariela pointed at Lydia's mother. Lydia could've slapped herself for neglecting to welcome her as well. She hugged her mother tight.

"They made an exception for her," Debra explained. She smiled at Lydia and looked her over. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"Good. How's work going? How's the new house?"

"Tiring as always," she said. "And it's good. I'm planning to turn one of the rooms into another office and may hire on an assistant. Business has been busy and I'll need the help."

"That's great!"

They left the conference room, only to be distracted by Jando and a group of people in the room next door. Lydia asked for a moment and checked in on him. An older short woman held Jando's face, mashing his cheeks together and slapping him gently. "You grow every time I see you," she said. A younger boy and girl, both with black hair like his, clamored at his hips, hopping up and down and begging him for something in another language.

When Lydia tried to leave without disturbing them, the boy spotted her. He pointed Lydia out to Jando and the woman, and then Jando beckoned her in.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude," she said, staying by the door.

"Nonsense. You're not intruding. Come in. Oh, thanks for the flower yesterday." He pulled her along to his family and made the introductions. "Lydia, my mom. Mom, this is Lydia."

"Ah, so this is the girl I've heard so much about!" She gathered Lydia into a great hug, lifting her to her toes. "It's wonderful to finally meet you." Smacking Lydia's cheeks together like she had with her son, she studied her. "I can see why you talk about her so much. She's very pretty."

"We're just friends," Jando said. But he chuckled, winking at Lydia. "For now." Then he hefted up his brother and sister on each shoulder, spinning them about. "And these two brats are Manoel and Suzana. Say hi, you two."

They waved and shouted, "Hi!" Lydia waved back. By that time, Debra and Dariela had entered, checking on what was taking Lydia so long. They joined the meeting, as Jando's mother took Debra aside and praised her for "raising such a fine young woman." Debra paid as many compliments to her for Jando, dubbing him "a brave and handsome man."

Meanwhile, Jando's eyes lit up when he saw Dariela and he bowed gracefully. "I see that Lydia keeps exquisite company. Where have you been hiding this fair creature?"

Dariela cast a sidelong glance at her. "Your boyfriend?"

Unexpectedly, he snatched her hand and kissed it softly. Lydia snickered at Dariela's startled recoil. "No. But I can be yours." Slowly, her hand started to disappear and Dariela's eyes widened.

"You can go invisible?"

"I can make other things go invisible. Not myself," he corrected and held up her see-through hand, enjoying her reaction. Lydia had the urge to warn him not to do the same to either his or Dariela's clothes.

Suzana and Manoel seemed to be used to their older brother's romantic antics, scrunching their faces and kicking the back of his shins. He rounded on them and chased them into a corner, grabbing them and causing them to vanish and reappear. They laughed and clapped their hands. "Again! Again!" they said.

Dariela watched, her jaw dropping. Lydia closed her mouth and guided her to the exit. "Yeah, this one is Jando. And there's plenty more where he came from." The others followed right behind them.

* * *

Throughout the tour of the Cave, Dariela marveled at all the sights. Lydia forgot sometimes how amazing their abilities were to a normal person and felt like a guide leading her through a theme park or a strange country. All of her friends warmed up well to Dariela. Lydia failed to stem Wren's exhausting nature until it was too late. The girl had fired off about every question one could ever ask of Dariela while displaying her ice ability, creating snowballs in the palm of her hand, and covering nearby windows in frost.

Her other friends, Ryan and Donny, equally thrilled Dariela, the former showing off his flinging mode of travel through the Center by slapping his superlong tongue to the ceiling and walls, zipping from one location to the next or launching to dangerous heights, only to swing like Tarzan through the jungle. Donny worked up a few intermittent sneezes, blasting apart ice targets Wren created with different-colored lasers—some red hot, others bluish white— shooting from his nostrils. By the end of it all, the two girls relaxed in the game room while Jando took over entertaining the group. His siblings were eager to see other abilities, and Debra and his mother were fast becoming friends.

"I'm pretty jealous," Dariela said, punching Lydia in the arm. "You got it good. Superpowers, secret spy stuff—"

"BEPs and agent training," she corrected.

Dariela smirked. "This place has gotten to you." Lydia was a little surprised at herself, considering where she'd started, less than a year ago. "Anyway, semantics. Point is, I wish I was here." She cast a glance around at the groups of people in the game room, competing and yelling over video games or watching shows on the various televisions. Bobbing her head to the speakers playing old rock music in the distance, she then watched several people engaged in a board game on the coffee table next to their chairs. "Got to get me a superpower. I'll even take the one Sylvia has. Hearing sound vibrations in the wall through your fingers? Man."

"All you have to do is get into a freak accident," Lydia said.

"Speaking of which, do I have to talk into Sylvia's fingers?" Dariela lowered her head and held her own fingertips close to her mouth. "I know in your letters you told me she was deaf, so I wasn't sure. I was kind of going back and forth, leaning in and pulling out. Looked like one of those ducks on a bowl of water that go up and down, up and down."

"No, she can hear fine through her fingers," Lydia said. "She might turn her hand toward you while you're speaking. She reads lips, too, so you're fine either way."

"Good to know."

Off to one end, Lydia spotted Aidan, lining up a shot on the game room's new pool table. He was quite skilled and proved himself better than most there, sinking nearly every ball he hit. Lydia wondered if she should broach the subject of what happened yesterday. Then again, pretending nothing had changed between them might help. But she sensed things wouldn't be that easy.

She realized Dariela had asked a question. "What was that?"

"Too busy batting your eyelashes at someone?" Dariela turned toward Aidan. "Oh, that the flying guy? Hmm, he's not bad in a shy, reserved kind of way," she said teasingly.

"It's not like that. Not every guy in here is a boyfriend, current or otherwise."

A wicked smile crept up Dariela's cheeks. "I would hope not. Else I'd have to punish you for hiding that news from me."

Lydia checked a clock on the wall. "Do you mind staying here for a bit? I have training. Unless you want to come watch and see more abilities."

"Nah, I'd like to, but I'll stay here." She stretched out in her chair and wormed deeper into it. "Didn't get much sleep last night."

Lydia booked it down to the standard training area for all BEPs. On the way, she passed by Cooper and Nina's swimming pool room to say hello and to ask if it would be alright to bring Dariela by to visit. However, Cooper was being led down the hall. It was odd seeing him out of the water, away from the cafeteria or without Nina beside him. He was on all fours, like a boy crawling along, except that where forearms, hands, lower legs, and feet should be, there were pale, skin-colored flippers. He flopped along on his flippers like a seal in swim trunks beside a security guard, leaving a trail of water. They disappeared around a corner before she could call to them.

His twin sister, Nina, a girl with human limbs instead of flippers, watched from the pool's windowed wall that faced the hall, her face pressed against the glass. The fish gills on her neck opened and closed rapidly as if she was short of breath. She watched the group disappear and once they did, she swam away and hid.

Puzzled, Lydia entered and climbed the short steps. It was quiet, save for the splashing, salty water. She peered closer into the pool. At the bottom, a faint, human-shaped blotch stirred. "Nina!" The shape drifted to the deeper end and vanished completely. Lydia wanted to stay, but training had started, so she left Nina for now and jogged down the hall.

She arrived a few minutes late to the large, blue-matted training room, changed into her training shorts and shirt in the locker room, and quickly organized her group for practice. During the past few months, she had come to offer training for those seeking advanced combat techniques. It had begun with Lydia's demonstrating a few moves for Wren from her agent training. But others gathered to watch her, and she eventually became an unofficial section for anyone to join. She didn't mind it, and helped anyone who asked. Soon many had come to practice the same moves that she had learned, and Lydia was regarded as a trainer of sorts

Sometimes Arthur helped, and they would teach a variety of holds, blocks, punches, and kicks to the other BEPs. Other times, he left her to teach everyone by herself. It was odd at first, but she grew accustomed to it.

The teaching was light today and she mostly corrected stances. Other than that, Wren and Lydia practiced sparring with each other. Ryan joined in, dodging her punches and Wren's ice balls as he swung by his long, elastic tongue on the white-washed ceiling and walls. When they finished, Ryan landed and rolled into Lydia's shins. Even when he hopped up to his feet, he only reached her waist, but his great big frog-like eyes sparkled like a frog itself surrounded by fireflies. "Yeah! I beat both of you! Maybe I'll be an agent someday!"

"Maybe so," Lydia said, as Wren snuck a brittle ice ball down Ryan's shirt and smacked his back, flattening the ice. The scrawny boy leapt in the air, flailing his arms. The residue ice fell out, and he snatched a second ice ball from Wren, flinging it at her with his tongue. Wren ducked and sucked some water from the straws wrapped around her ears and connected to her water bottles, along with an extra pair of bottles for training, and then spat on the ground, forming a sheet of ice in front of Ryan. He snapped his tongue to the roof and swung over it, chasing her into the hall.

Lydia changed out of her training clothes and swung by the game room to pick up Dariela for dinner, where she found her playing a game of pool with Aidan.

"If you don't mind gliding, why not do it all the time?" Dariela asked him. "I'd be doing that nonstop."

"Because I can only fly or glide as fast as I can sprint and it takes more effort," Ryan said. "Not much point when I can walk."

"The best abilities are wasted on those who don't appreciate them."

Aidan leaned on the table, carefully aiming his cue before shooting. He struck the last solid ball, then the eight ball, sinking both one after the other, and winning the game. He smiled triumphantly, leaning on the cue.

Dariela used her own cue to sweep all her striped balls into the pockets. "I hate this game anyway." The ribbing that Lydia planned died on her tongue as Dariela said, "Fine. You win," and pecked his lips. "Not the worst loss I've ever had."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, "for another match."

"We could just skip—oh, there's Lydia." Dariela turned and set aside her cue. The pair headed toward her. "So, can we get something to eat? I'm starving."

Lydia was trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. She mumbled incoherently and led the way to the cafeteria. Once there, they quickly grabbed their food and joined Jando, family, and friends. They half listened to him recount a story from his childhood in Brazil.

Poking her food with a fork and chewing absentmindedly, Lydia jerked to attention when Dariela tapped her plate with a spoon. "Hey, what's bugging you?"

"Hmm, I'm fine," she said, a little food dribbling down her chin. She dabbed it with a napkin. "Just, you know, didn't expect that. The pool thing."

"Oh, that. I made a bet with him," Dariela said. "If I won, he flew me one lap around the Cave. If he won, his pick."

"And he picked a kiss?" Lydia had greater trouble believing that.

"I listed off some suggestions and that was one. I think he thought I was intimidated and would back down. But I really wanted to fly, so I agreed." She paused and swallowed her food, horrified for a moment. "Wait, is there something between you two?"

"No. No, there wasn't. Isn't," Lydia said, dismissing Dariela's fear. "No, it seemed unusual. Like I said, I didn't expect that." Because I can't picture it. She honestly attempted to pair Dariela and Aidan together in her mind, and although she had witnessed the kiss herself, it still failed to compute for her. "Doesn't seem to be your type is all."

"I don't know. I could warm up to him." She looked down the table at Aidan, caught his eye, and smirked. A tinge of red raced up to his ears and he stared at his food. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all. Go ahead," she said, hoping she was acting encouraging enough. The notion to tell Dariela that Aidan had asked her out passed in a thought. But she decided to wait and see what happened. It could turn out that nothing comes of it. No use making a big deal of it.

* * *

During the week that Debra and Dariela stayed, Lydia's days consisted mainly of school, training, and spending her free time with them. Thankfully, Sylvia was a little more lenient in their training schedule. As Arthur's second-in-command, she had to run the Cave in his stead and allowed Lydia and the others to leave their training sessions earlier.

Wren joined Lydia often when she was able and enjoyed Debra and Dariela. Lydia also set aside time to visit the pool, but she always found Cooper gone and Nina in no mood to talk. She caught a glimpse of the girl in the pool once, sitting on the bottom, stewing with a sour face, her neck gills flapping restlessly. She swam off, ignoring Lydia's running in and asking where Cooper had been taken.

Debra found plenty to do during those periods without Lydia, from talking to Jando's mother to finishing paperwork for her business. Dariela actually did end up hanging out with Aidan, to the point that he accompanied her often. He relented to Dariela's request for a flight as well and carried her on a short trip past the Center while Lydia headed to class one day. Lydia had been afraid he would drop Dariela, as he flew with his eyes closed and had several near misses with the building in his erratic flight.

Thankfully, they didn't try any fancy maneuvers, and Dariela had returned unhurt and exhilarated. Lydia found several red spots and claw marks on Dariela's back when she changed shirts that day, but Dariela wasn't fazed. "He was clinging to me like a cat," she said. "I thought he broke the skin myself."

When the week ended and everyone said their good-byes, Lydia hugged Dariela and Debra tight. "We'll come back soon, hon," Debra promised.

"You got that right," Dariela said. She privately bid farewell to Aidan, leaving him with a quick kiss. Again, Lydia's mind reeled at the act and stirred up hot in her skull. She wondered at first why it continued to bother her so, as she and Aidan never ended up doing anything. Soon, Lydia believed the simmering feeling was due to Aidan himself. She was wary of his intentions for her friend and planned to speak to him about it later on.

A good opportunity never really presented itself until their next agent training session a few days later, when she planned to corner him after they'd finished. Yet their training was cut short when a security guard burst in, searching for Sylvia. "Ma'am. Urgent news."

She broke off from her lecture about the proper methods of sneaking up to a target and incapacitating them. "What is it?" Lydia, Aidan, and Jando circled her. The guard looked at them, then at Sylvia, who nodded.

"The boys upstairs—however, they're double checking it—say they may have found Heather Stanson."

* * *

From the reports the BEP Division compiled, Heather had stayed off the radar for these past months, only popping up in small areas. Those occurrences were questionable, as the witnesses never saw much of her to be sure. And no one was found under control or dead from her gas ability. The FBI had frozen her assets, run her picture on the news regularly, and offered a reward for any information leading to her capture. Still, she managed to evade them.

However, the latest incident changed that. She appeared to have been injured somehow and had broken into a hospital last night, stealing what she could for a wound in her leg, according to the employees. She had gassed an orderly, and he was later found in a daze. The report said he was recovering, and there hadn't been any other victims, aside from shaken nurses and doctors, in whose faces she'd rattled a gun.

Arthur was apprised of the situation and immediately scheduled a flight back with Dilbert, the BEP Division's pilot, for that night. Barrett opted for an early ending to her own vacation and returned with Arthur to the Cave. Lydia, Jando, Aidan, and several others stood by, waiting. When they landed, Barrett was out first, fiddling with and reattaching the clasp to her chain necklace and tucking the ring on the end into her T-shirt. She appeared rather refreshed, peaceful, and odd without her traditional white coat, Lydia thought. Her normally hard face was soft and content. At the bottom of the steps, she lit a cigarette and greeted everyone.

Coming after her, Arthur coughed loud and dramatically. "Can you put that out?"

"I waited until we were off the plane."

"You're blowing it in my face."

"Not yet." She sucked a long drag on the cigarette and popped out a ring in his direction. He swatted it into a blob of smoke and weaved beneath it. Then Barrett tugged at the back of her necklace. "Ow. Did my hair get caught in this?" she asked, showing her blonde curls and the chain to Arthur.

"Yeah, hang on." He set his luggage down and a few of the employees carried it off, while he removed the strands of hair caught in her clasp. "There."

"Thanks," she said, dropping the cigarette and squashing it underfoot.

"How was the graduation?" Lydia asked Arthur.

"It went well, thanks. Would've been nice to stay and celebrate with her longer, but we'll see each other this Christmas. But let's focus on why we're here. What's the situation on Heather?"

"Still no change," Sylvia said, handing him a file. He perused it, walking along with everyone to the Center's elevators. "Going by her supposed movements and this latest one, our best guess is that she's fleeing to Canada. Her injuries might be slowing her down." They stepped onto the elevator, leaving Lydia, Jando, and Aidan behind.

"Hey, wait!" Lydia's protests fell on preoccupied ears and the unflinching security guard blocking the elevators. Frustrated, Lydia wandered the Center, leaving the boys on their own. It's not fair to leave us out. We were there to stop her last time. We deserve as much right to know what's going on. She couldn't force herself to become too riled. It was late and her bed beckoned her to its warm sheets. The darkened rooms and the humming, tranquil neon-blue lights of the hall hung heavy on her eyes, as if the whole Center's bottom floor was submerged in water, dragging her down to a lethargic shuffle. She yawned and forgot about Heather. It was unlikely anything would happen tonight, and she could file a complaint tomorrow.

Passing by the pool, she decided to stop in for another futile attempt at catching Nina. To her excitement, Nina was above the water, her face buried in the stone sides of the pool. She honked her nose and asked in a harsh croak, "What do you want?"

Lydia wasn't too taken aback. It wasn't much different from Nina's normal attitude. "I wanted to know where Cooper's been."

"None of your business," she said, dipping beneath the water.

"Wait! Please, tell me what happened." She kneeled, yelling close to the surface. "Did they move him?"

Nina appeared again, still underwater except for her mouth, and her hair spread out along the surface, like a wild design of yellow-green seaweed in the water's hue. The dancing waves obscured her features, but Lydia could easily identify the angry blue eyes and fast flapping gills on her neck. "What's it matter to you? Are you going to do something about it?"

"I just want to know. Please."

For a few moments, Nina said nothing and hovered in that spot. Finally, she sighed. "He was moved upstairs to the second floor. He's getting out."

Lydia's brain slowly processed this. "Getting out? As in out of the Cave?"

"No! He's getting out for some sun! Needs to work on his tan!" She rose out of the water, her eyes bloodshot and pale face burning red. "Of course out of the Cave!" She dropped back into the water, gulping and calming down. Then she pushed her mouth above the surface once more. "Now leave me alone." She flipped about and swam to the bottom of the pool.

Lydia walked back to her dorm, stunned by the news. The twins had been at the Cave for years! Now all of a sudden, one of them was getting out? One twist after another all week. What's next? Wren takes a vow of silence? She considered visiting Cooper that night, but figured the security guard at the elevator would refuse her again.

The next morning, a rapping at the door woke Lydia. She turned to her alarm clock, focusing her bleary eyes for a moment. It was an hour too early for her to be up. "Lydia Penner?" a muffled voice asked. She threw off her blanket, crawled out of bed, and opened the door to a security guard. Lydia leaned on the door frame, straightening higher and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Yes?" she asked. Her vision grew sharp as she studied his name tag. Morella.

"Security Chief Morella. Arthur has requested you to come to his office," he said.

Lydia nodded and smacked her lips. She shut the door and changed clothes while Morella waited outside. She joined him and he led her to Arthur's office on the third floor. "What's this all about?" she asked Morella on the elevator.

"Arthur will explain it to you," he said. As her mind cleared, she wondered what he wanted. A part of her hoped he was planning to let her into the loop as to Heather's whereabouts, but she tempered her expectations.

They stepped off the elevator, and he left her in front of Arthur's office. When she entered, Jando and Aidan, equally as sleepy as she was and drooping in their chairs, greeted her. Sylvia and Arthur stood before his desk. The raven-haired woman shook her head and whispered in his ear, pointing in the teenagers' direction.

"Good morning," Arthur said, offering Lydia a seat. "Sorry for calling this meeting so early, but I'm afraid this can't wait. As you already know, we've located Heather Stanson."

Lydia sat up in her chair and paid more attention. "Normally, a pair of agents would do be sufficient to capture a BEP like her. Unfortunately, Sylvia is our only available agent. The others are on their own assignments and are unable to act on this as fast as we need them to. I contacted the FBI as well, but they're unable to spare any people at this time."

"So what does that have to do with us?" Jando asked.

"I've been toying with the idea of letting you three head out on a mission for some field experience." He leaned on his desk. "In any other case, I'd arrange for something simple, but given the current situation, Sylvia will need backup." Arthur pouted his lips thoughtfully, as if reconsidering what he was about to ask. "I'd like you three to be that backup."

Sylvia's sour frown and creased, worried eyebrows explained her opinion of the suggestion, but she didn't interject. "To anyone else, I know this would be a sink-or-swim situation. However, you three have proved yourselves before, which is why I'm making this exception. Don't think this will be easy though," he said. "Going after Heather will be dangerous, regardless of your previous encounter. Not only because she's desperate and on the run, but because it's possible that the Rogue BEP Brigade knows her location as well by now. Therefore, it's vital we find her first. She may shed some more light on the group and its members, or any other rogue BEPs she may have worked with."

Lydia wondered if that included verifying Rooke's claim that he hadn't ordered her parents' kidnapping. The BEP Division found nothing conclusive in their investigation so far, and that worried her. If he told the truth, that same person who took her parents once may be out there, plotting something else. "If any of you have doubts and feel you're not up to the task, let me know now," Arthur said.

The three teenagers glanced at each other. All silently agreeing, Lydia turned to Arthur and said, "We'll go."

"Good." He still looked a little uneasy. "Sylvia will be in charge for this mission. I expect all of you to follow her directions to the letter." Sylvia glanced pointedly at Lydia, who nodded. "Dilbert is refueling the plane, so you'll leave this afternoon. You're excused from school today so you can prepare. Dismissed."
Chapter 5- The Race is On

Mark's whole body lurched, and he tossed in his bed, finally awake. He sat up, whipping his head back and forth and looking around the room. Leonard and Oliver were already gone, and he wiped his face, breathing hard into his hand. A dream. Only a dream.

If the previous cells had been bad, then his current room was awful. Every night he went to sleep afraid of Oliver accidentally batting an eye for a nanosecond, and each morning he was happy to bolt from bed and down to the cafeteria for breakfast.

Sleeping was the most unpleasant, not because of his uncomfortable bed, but because of the nightmares. Contrary to Oliver's reassurance, Mark woke each night from a chilling dream, his forehead and pillow drenched in sweat. He always pictured Oliver standing beside his bed and opening his eyes, setting him ablaze. Whyte stood by the door, singling out Mark. "Some all-resistant body you have. What did I tell you about 'honesty'?" Then he detached the room to the ocean depths as the fire spread, consuming everything in sight.

Since then, Mark's sole goal had been simple. I have to get out of here. One slipup, one burn and, well, Mark didn't want to think about it. If he lived long enough to become a valued member of Whyte's team, BEP agents would come for him, and he only saw Finster's end in that future. Cutting a deal with the BEP Division might work if he knew where they were or how to contact them. All he did know was that he had to escape, fall off the grid, and hide from everyone. However, escape proved as difficult as he expected it would.

On the days he was able, he snuck away from the others and to the elevators. The first time, he headed to the fortieth floor, the top, praying that was the exit. Yet he stepped out onto the very peak of the base, a small, square platform several feet long and wide. He was fairly hidden from prying eyes and scoped out the rest of his prison.

The upper half of the base above water was designed like an oil rig. A cover to mask its true nature of the underwater base, Mark supposed. I wonder if Whyte and his white cat are hiding from Bond, he laughed to himself.

The elevator was a central pillar that rose out of the middle of the rig. Cranes jutted out of the sides of the base like fingers attached to a palm, and the base sat on four, large, concrete leg supports. The floors were different sizes, some missing corners and sections and exposing a lower level. Shipping containers and machines of all types and functions filled each floor.

Various styles of ships, from recreation to transport, docked and left on a regular basis. Employees milled about, and once a helicopter took off from one of the lower decks. As far as the eye could see, water surrounded the base on all sides. Not a piece of land in sight and no clear way to count how many floors he was above the water.

Since then, Mark tried different floors, eliminating them one by one to find the number of the dock level. He figured he could stow aboard a boat to shore. As long as he was far from Whyte, he didn't care what the vessel's destination was.

Unfortunately, he kept selecting the wrong floors. To avoid suspicion, he had time to check only a couple of floors on days he could slip away from everyone. None of the regular employees seemed to mind his wanderings and passed him without a word.

So far, he discovered that the bottom half of the base housed laboratories, locked rooms, offices, a couple of armories, cafeterias, and barracks for Overwatch mercenaries and employees. And that was only what he paid attention to on a few floors. There was also no way between a majority of the floors except by elevator, and some could only be accessed by a card reader and keypad. There were stairs at the farthest end, yet one of the lower level stairs Mark found and tried ended after a few floors, with one door needing an access card and code to enter. He decided to leave the stairs as a last resort and focused instead on the elevator.

The whole layout was a twisting, wandering-in-circles labyrinth. There were maps of the current floor next to the elevators, but beyond what was on the current level, they proved useless to anyone unfamiliar with the base.

During his searches, he kept an eye out for a phone. The lines were likely monitored; therefore, the police were out of the question. Mark thought he might be able to call his mother and check to see if she was okay.

One day, he came across a couple of computers in an empty office. The email system on them was password-protected, but he used a computer to dig up additional information on Golden Springs. Other than recovery efforts, a promised stronger police presence, and memorials, many articles discussed Rooke Pharmaceuticals. Very few believed the company could survive the tragedy. Many claimed the SN91 was fast becoming associated with Rooke and that damage control was in order. "This simply isn't the kind of problem you can bounce back from," one article said. "The company is finished."

Today, when Mark finally slipped off to the elevators, he found Anton wandering in front of them. Mark stayed out of sight as the man walked on. He hadn't had many dealings with Anton, or anyone else besides Oliver and Roy. Those two kept assuring Mark that it would take time for everyone to warm up to him, but that it would happen. "And Anton and Sheila still miss Frieda," Roy said. "Give them time."

Indeed, those two had been a little brighter in the past couple of days. Even though Anton hung his head now, he appeared to be contemplative instead of simply upset. He trudged along, holding out his hand to the thin, tube hall lights. An electric arc fizzled from them one at a time and shot straight for his open palm. Before the electricity touched him, Anton pushed it back and into the next light. That light would momentarily brighten, and the current one would dim before returning to normal.

Fascinated by the display, Mark followed him and kept hidden around the corner. Maybe Roy was right. And it would be nice to acquaint himself so that everyone else didn't glower or scowl at him.

Before Mark could consider talking to Anton later that day, the man mistimed one of the arcs. The electricity zapped his palm and he jumped, unleashing a string of loud curses that faded to quiet mutters. He held his hand, rubbing it, hissing, and stamping his foot. Then he drew electricity from various lights and threw them into the offending bulb. Brighter and whiter the light grew until it burst, and glass shards spilled everywhere on the ground. Mark pulled back and held his breath for a moment.

Anton clasped his dust-shaded hands and ran them through his short, dusky hair, so that it stood straighter than it already was. He sighed and left, no longer messing with the lights. Guess he's not in any mood to talk yet, Mark thought.

After Anton was gone, Mark dashed to the elevators and chose the twenty-third floor, hoping it was at sea level. When he stepped off, he was disappointed to find a gray corridor like all the others in the bottom half. Still, he checked the floor all the same. There was a records room, which he briefly browsed through, hoping to find a schematic or a clear layout of the base. He didn't know what it would be under, and he located only various projects, financial reports, and dry business documents.

He checked a clock on a desk. Noon. Lunchtime. Someone might miss him if he was late. Mark decided to try one more floor.

When he walked onto the elevator, however, Roy was in there. "Hey, Mark. Up or down?"

"Uh, up?" he said, shuffling to the side.

"Not hungry?"

"I wanted to get some air first. Been cooped up down here, you know?"

Roy nodded. "I know what you mean. Need to get some sun now and then or you go crazy." He hit the twenty-fifth floor button. "I could use some, too."

"Not hungry either?"

"Got to stretch my legs. Been standing in the medical rooms all morning. Feels good to walk around."

The elevator dinged, and when they stepped out, a familiar salty scent filled Mark's nostrils. He refrained from running like a madman and matched Roy's pace. "You're a doctor?"

"Field medic. Same as I was in the army. Of course, once my daughter was born, I figured I should get into something less dangerous for my family's sake."

They emerged from a narrow, rust-brown skeleton hall and story-high tanks on either side to gaze upon the open ocean. Water! Mark was right above the water! His feet fidgeted to move faster. "Mercenary work isn't?"

"Well, I kind of fell into it, and I don't have to go on too many missions. Besides, the money's good. Still got to pay for their college somehow." He nudged Mark and chuckled. They leaned against the railing at the edge and peered over. "Want to see them? Got a picture somewhere," he said, whipping out his wallet and digging through it. "Older boy's turning ten soon. Really good at the piano like his mom. The younger one, she's got the biggest eyes you ever saw. I've never seen eyes that precious. First day she opened them and looked at me, I knew I had to stick around for both of them." He took out a picture of himself, a brunette woman, a young boy, and a toddler, the last two a few years apart and smiling. The boy was starting to look like a young Roy, with his brilliant ice-blue eyes, while the youngest was missing a couple of teeth and had great moon-size eyes that seemed too large for her tiny head. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Mark said half listening. It was hard to pay attention to the conversation when his gleeful eye was caught by the ocean waves splashing against the base, and two boats one level below. Boats! He was one floor above them! His excitement bubbled over, and he flicked his gaze all around for a set of stairs or a ladder, forgetting about the elevator in his joy. He would need a way to sneak off from Roy as well.

"Yeah." Roy kept talking, tucking the picture away. "I had one guy this morning that was real bad. He thought he would die and wanted me to pray with him since he couldn't make it to the chapel. He's okay now though."

"You guys have a chapel?" Mark asked.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't we?"

"Well," he said, bobbing his head, "you know, the—"

"The whole private military corporation, guns-for-hire thing?" Roy said, grinning. "PMCs aren't full of robots programmed to kill. We're people, too."

"And how does that fit into having a chapel? Pretty sure there's a 'no murdering' clause somewhere."

"Murder is all about perspective," Roy said.

"Great, a philosopher."

"No, but I've had that brought up in Bible study before."

Mark choked on a laugh. "A mercenary preacher. Now I've seen everything."

"Oh, I'm no preacher. Not officially. I'm sometimes a stand-in." He gazed out at the horizon, and Mark started to slip away and find a way down to the docks. "Wanted to be a chaplain in the army, but couldn't quite make it. Never was great at memorizing the verses." He returned to Mark, who stopped abruptly, cursing his luck. "Back to your question. Take me: I patch people up."

"Who go kill others," Mark said.

Roy shrugged. "Everyone needs help. It's up to them what they choose to do." Mark wanted to shout that Roy knew what they would do, but he had already moved onto the next point. "Also, I don't kill. I'll defend myself and my team, but I never kill. I never carry a gun either." Roy slapped his hip. "Didn't in the army, don't now." Mark was surprised that he was right. Unlike most other BEPs and mercenaries on the base, there was no gun holster on the man.

"Doesn't stop you from helping Whyte and the others."

Roy sucked on his teeth, staring out at the ocean, and Mark had the impression Roy had had this debate before. "If I don't, someone nastier might. And I try to," he said, searching for the phrase, "steer them away from being too extreme."

Mark rolled his eyes away from Roy and swallowed his sarcastic reply. "And that works?"

"Sometimes."

"But you're still helping them kill people."

"No choice sometimes. Some people are bad."

"Not all."

Roy patted his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay." Mark raised an eyebrow. "If you're broken up about Golden Springs, you can talk about it," Roy said. "We're all friends here."

He ducked out from under Roy's hand. "Uh, no. That's not it. Thanks though?" Roy didn't appear to believe him.

Mark remembered the elevator, but by then, the boats had set off. He groaned and calmed down. Not like I could hop aboard just like that anyway. The idea had been very tempting, but he had to take this carefully, one step at a time. Otherwise, Whyte would catch on.

Valerie's body appeared and tapped him on the back. Her eyes were attached to her stomach and she cast a sharp look at him. He shrugged, unsure what she was upset about. She grabbed his shoulder and yanked him toward the elevator.

"Don't blame yourself for what happened," Roy said. "That'll make it worse."

"That what you tell yourself?" Mark said under his breath.

"And the offer to talk still stands," Roy called to them.

Valerie and Mark rode down to one floor above their living quarters. There, Valerie pushed him along at a run toward one of the gyms.

When they entered, Mark examined the room, panicking that something had happened. Did Whyte find out about him? Did someone die? Several new recruits were exercising, and a couple were sparring in a boxing ring, surrounded by other mercenaries who cheered them on. Emeryl stood among them, supervising and disciplining some of the rowdy recruits and joking privately with a few veterans.

Valerie rushed over to her head on a bench and rearranged the eyes to her head and the head to her neck stump. She sat for a few minutes, breathing hard and cutting her rapidly blinking eyes at Mark. "Where. Were. You?" she asked testily.

"Uh, I was getting some air," he said.

She rubbed her limbs, massaging them, and buried her face in her hands. "Next time, tell someone!"

Thankfully, Oliver saved Mark, taking him aside. "Don't mind her. She just needs to stop being lazy and take her whole body with her."

"What?"

"See, whenever she removes a piece of her body, that piece is cut off from the rest," he said, already anticipating Mark's reaction. "I know. 'Duh, Captain Obvious.' I mean, that piece is surviving on its own. Depending on the piece, its survival time varies. Like a toe. Has a short time. Take too long and good-bye toe. It's a useless little stub now."

"Oh," Mark said, looking back at her. Valerie seemed to have recovered but sat hunched on the bench. "That explains it."

"Yeah. Makes for some thrilling 'Keep Away' games, I tell you."

"But what did she want me for?"

"She didn't. Whyte did."

Whyte walked toward them, passing by the boxing ring as one of the mercenaries knocked out the other. Several of the spectators cheered and congratulated him while he climbed out.

"Mark, glad you could join us," Whyte said. "We finally have an assignment for you. This way, please."

"Why don't you try taking on one of the freaks?" one of the younger mercenaries asked the winning boxer. Whyte, Oliver, and Mark went around them.

"Nah, that'd be too easy," the winner said, punching his fists together. "I want a real challenge."

"Don't be arrogant," Whyte said to the crowd. "These 'freaks' as you call them, are experts. Take them lightly at your own peril." Emeryl pushed through the crowd, carrying a drawn pistol, as if prepared to severely reprimand the recruits. When Mark looked closer at him, he gaped as he realized Emeryl's hand was red and raw, recently burned. The palm's skin was fused to the gun's grip, as were all the fingers except his thumb and forefinger.

Most nodded and agreed with Whyte as he left them, but the boxer shook his head. "Yeah, right. Although I wouldn't mind going a couple of rounds with her." He pointed his glove at Valerie. "Bet she'd be better than a contortionist." He elbowed one of his buddies and they guffawed. The boxer never saw her arm until she threw it, fist outstretched, into his right cheek. It crawled up Mark's body and onto his shoulder, like an alien creature attempting to take him down. Then it jumped, slapped the boxer's other cheek, and scurried back to its owner.

"Why you—" He raised a fist and started to rush her, but Whyte held him back.

"Enough. You need to control your tongue. I won't have that kind of juvenile behavior here."

The boxer swung, nearly catching Whyte in his head. With blinding speed, Whyte dodged the punch and twisted the boxer's arm. "Now, stop struggling." Instead, the boxer lashed out, trying to hit lower. Whyte leapt out of the way and weaved through the series of blows that came next. Then he gave the boxer an uppercut to his gut and chopped him in the throat. The boxer fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"Still think you can take on these freaks?" Whyte asked him and then the other mercenaries. The boxer responded with a weak swing that Whyte slapped aside. He jammed his knee into the man's chin, and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Always has to be one in every new group," Whyte said, rolling the man over with his foot. "Get him out of here!" Two of the mercenaries hopped to the task and lifted the boxer, hauling him out of the gym. Emeryl rounded the rest together and set them running laps.

Oliver touched Mark's dropped jaw and closed it for him. "Wow," Mark said breathlessly.

"Yeah. But it's less impressive when you remember he can see the future," Oliver said.

"Wait, what?"

"Mark, Oliver," Whyte called. "This way."Lionel joined them outside, tailing behind.

The future? Whyte can see the future? Everyone's future or his own? How far ahead? Whenever he wants or only under certain circumstances? All these questions and more buzzed through Mark's mind, all wanting to leap onto Oliver and wring the knowledge from him.

He dropped the subject when they entered a standard office. "Have a seat," Whyte said.

Oliver stomped the metal floor. "Temporary setup?" he asked. Mark held his arm and helped him sit.

"Yes. My new one should be here next week. Now," Whyte said as he faced them, "unfortunately, negotiations with the U.S. government aren't progressing well at all. They believe in their precious BEP Division too much," he said, with a snarl, drumming his fingers on the desk.

"You want to arrange an attack then?" Lionel asked.

"Yes," Whyte said. "I'm sending you three in. Mark could use a good warm-up after these idle months. There's a relatively new anarchist group in Virginia we've been in talks with. Children of the New Age. They want to attack some government institution, but they don't have the means. So we've offered to equip them." He tossed a file in their direction and, when neither of the men moved toward it, Mark picked it up. He flipped through the pages that detailed the group and all their members.

Whyte pushed back from the desk and looked down. "What? I don't have any treats." He lifted a tabby cat onto his desk and stroked its back. It purred softly until scraping paws scratched the floor. A snow-white beagle with brown spots whined and ran around everyone's legs, begging for attention as well.

"Anyway," Whyte said, scooting the cat from him, "can't use the SN91. Still too much heat from that. In the meantime, there's a weapons cache in Virginia. Bombs, assault rifles, basic standard supplies. The address is in the folder. Deliver it to the group and help them plan an attack on some place close. I'm thinking Richmond. As soon as that's done, report in and I'll send a task force. Then you'll go in, save the day and celebrate, so on and so forth. It'll help boost our image at negotiations."

"Since they're small, they'll likely attack someplace local," Lionel said, reading over Mark's shoulder.

"My thoughts exactly. Let them take some hostages before you and the task force go in. Try to avoid casualties, but if a couple of hostages die, it won't be a problem."

"Wait, why do this?" Mark asked. The others looked at him as if he had said something outrageous. "I mean, if we know where these guys are and what they want to do, why not take them right now or give all this information to the government? That should help your negotiations."

"Because it's a new group and they're not a threat," Whyte explained. "These people won't make news. Their capture at this point wouldn't sway opinions of Overwatch. Most of their members are guilty of assault or armed robbery at best. Give them guns and the resources for bigger things, however, and you'll get national attention." He raised his hands to his cheeks in mocking fear. "'Where did this group suddenly come from?' 'We were caught off-guard!' 'Who will save us?'"

Whyte dropped the frightened act. "Enter us, the always-vigilant Overwatch, keeping a close eye on all current and potential threats to the world. Does anyone thank the doctor who advises you about your high cholesterol before it kills you? Or the officer giving the drunk driver a DUI before they cause an accident? No, they thank the doctor who removes the tumor or the cop who shot the gun-toting maniac. We have to show that we're better than others like the BEP Division, that our security is needed. It's all a matter of deception. That's our greatest weapon." Oliver and Lionel nodded their heads in agreement. "Deceive everyone and whatever you want is easily yours."

The phone on the desk rang. Whyte answered it, grumbling that, "This better be good," as Mark returned his attention to the folder. "Hello?...Fine, put it through...What is it?"

Lionel asked Mark to flip through the pages. As he read, Mark's stomach churned. He didn't think he could go through with this. It was unlikely that Oliver and Lionel would turn their backs long enough in Virginia for him to escape, but maybe he could alert the police. There will be a phone wherever we're staying. Then another concern popped up. What if they can trace that? What if it's an Overwatch place? But there will be more than one phone somewhere. I'll use a payphone or borrow a cell and stop all this.

"What?" Whyte asked. "Say that again." A pause. "You're sure it's Heather?"

Mark abandoned the folder and his insides jumped. Heather? He hadn't heard from Heather since she fled from Whyte after Golden Springs.

"Yes." Whyte eyed them. "I see. That is good news then. Yes, well done." He hung up the phone and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "My contact in the BEP Division informed one of my middlemen that they found Heather Stanson."

The three sat up in their chairs. "Oh?" Oliver beamed. "Where at?"

"Washington. Supposedly fleeing to Canada, but they're not sure."

"Want us to kill her first?"

Kill Heather? A tremor shot through Mark's body, and he immediately started running through various scenarios about ways to could get word to her. "No, I have a better idea," Whyte said. Mark settled down and listened. "We capture her before the BEP Division does and offer her to the U.S. as a way to show that we are more capable than them. Then, once she's in their custody, we'll attack whoever's transporting her and wipe out everyone under the guise of some radicals. The government will be scared and Heather will be dead."

"Two birds with one fire blast," Oliver said, lowering his glasses and chewing on the end of one stem. "You want us to bring Mark on this?"

Lionel's expression was pleading otherwise, but Whyte said, "Yeah. It'll be good for him. And since he worked closely with her, maybe he can talk her down, make it easier for you two to bring her in. They're sending Sylvia on this one. Maybe some others, but my contact wasn't sure." He picked up the phone. "Take the helicopter up top to Oregon. I'll have a car waiting for you when you arrive with the rest of the details once I've gathered them. Go to Washington and track down Heather before the BEP Division can. Fast and in and out."

"What about the Children of the New Age?" Lionel asked.

"I'll have someone else take care of it," he said.

The three left and rode the elevators to the upper half of the base. All the while, Mark brainstormed every possible option that would save Heather and himself. Sneaking off before they found Heather was out of the question. He wouldn't leave her to Whyte's mercy, or lack thereof. He needed to stay with them to locate her. Besides, leaving that early would only alert them. Once she was in custody, Mark saw no opportunity of freeing her then either. His best chance at the moment was when they found her, to somehow escape with her then and there.

It was a near impossible plan, but the only one available. As they loaded into a waiting helicopter with enough seats for a lot of passengers, the pilot held up a sack and blindfold for Mark. He bowed his head and the man tied the blindfold on tight and slipped the sack on. Then the helicopter lifted off.

"Precaution," Oliver said. "Whyte does this to all new people for a while."

"I understand," Mark said. It wasn't like he would be able to navigate his way to the base anyway. The endless body of water surely was the same all around, and he couldn't tell one spot from the next.

Oliver patted him. "Excited?"

"Uh, yeah," he said.

"You okay? You sound sick." Oliver rubbed his back. "Don't worry. We'll be in Washington before you know it." He offered a barf bag from his seat, but Mark declined.

Sitting back and closing his eyes, Mark sighed. I hope the BEP Division finds her first.
Chapter 6- That Old Familiar Feeling

Since she was excused from school, Lydia found herself with too much free time. First, she headed to Brentle to check her braces and make sure they were in perfect working order. His combination office and private lab was completely dark, save for the faint glow from his computer screen, and his window blinds were shut. When she entered, he glanced up from his hunched position in front of the computer and squinted at the door. "Someone there? Yes, who is it?" His phone rang and he picked it up. "Can't talk now. Call back later." He hung up.

"Uh, I could have my braces looked at?" Lydia asked. "Arthur's sending me on a mission and I want to make sure there aren't any problems."

"Oh, of course, of course. Would you turn on the lights?" He stepped around his desk, tripping and crashing over strewn equipment and mechanical parts on the floor. "Oh, wait, wait!" Too late. She flipped on the light switch as he drew a curtain closed that cut the room in half. Lydia tried to check the gaps on the curtain's edges, but he pulled them to. He grinned, wide and toothy, with that mad scientist glint in his eyes especially bright today.

"Now, please excuse the mess," he said, uselessly flattening his wild hair, which sprung up the moment he stopped messing with it. His hands twitched, buzzing around, unsure what to do. "I've been busy. Haven't had a chance to tidy up." He picked up some small tools, dumping them in his lab coat pockets. Yet there was still hardly a clean spot to step on, and Lydia hopped, skipped, and jumped toward Brentle. She handed her braces to him and he set them down. "Did I hear you right? Arthur is sending you on a mission?"

"Yeah. Along with Jando and Aidan." She shifted her balance, spreading her stance wide in the two spaces clear of junk.

"Splendid. Really moving up now. You'll be a full-blown agent before you know it." He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "When are you heading out?"

"This afternoon," she said, eyeing the curtain. An amorphous blob rose out of the table beyond the white sheet.

"Where to?"

"I'm not sure if I should say." Part of the blob dangled off the table's edge.

"Right, right," he said, digging a wrench out of a pile of parts. "Secrecy is important." He caught her staring at the curtain and nodded. "I have a lot to do, but I'll have these ready for you before you leave."

"Sounds good. Thanks," Lydia said. After she stumbled out, her stomach grumbled for breakfast. She stopped by the cafeteria, grabbed some fruit and a cereal bar, and decided to search for Cooper.

"I want to see a friend on the second floor," Lydia told the guard at the elevator. Her request proved fruitless, however, until Sylvia exited and gave her permission, and the guard allowed Lydia to pass. Most of the second floor was a combination of the first and third floors. Nestled between experimentation chambers and labs sat middle-management offices and meeting rooms. Lydia never grew accustomed to the sudden change of blue light of the first level to the pure white of the upper levels.

Eventually, she came across one chamber with a pool. In the middle, a sunny blond boy poked his head out of the water, took a deep breath, and dived down, swimming laps underwater. She entered, bracing for the strong salty air. Instead, she inhaled pleasant fresh water. Oh, right, she remembered. Nina had to breathe salt water, not Cooper. To the side, a few technicians watched and appraised the swimmer.

Lydia waited until he finished the exercise and the technicians huddled together, talking amongst themselves. Cooper swam to Lydia, looking the part of a ghost-white dolphin. When he emerged, he shook his long corn-yellow hair and used his fleshy flipper arm to wipe the water out of his eyes. "Lydia! How've you been?" Unlike Nina's dull ones, his bright-blue eyes shimmered like the pool. Also, unlike his twin, he possessed no gills on his neck, so he wasn't limited to always submerging himself in water.

"I've been doing well. How are you doing?" She plopped down and crossed her legs.

"I'm doing all right," he said. He folded one long arm on top of the other on the pool's lip and kicked his flipper legs. "What brings you here?"

"Well, I talked to Nina."

His countenance dropped. "Oh. So you know already." He buried his mouth in his arms. "It was sudden. They just up and decided I qualified. Maybe they think all these years are enough for me to move on."

"And Nina?" she asked. "What did they say about her?"

He shrugged. "That she's not ready. It's all they'll tell me. I think Nina knows why, but she isn't talking either." Cooper puffed a sigh into the crook of his elbow and raised his head to the technicians. "They monitor me for hours, running me through exercises here and there, making sure I'm fit to leave and function in society. Only change is when Gary comes in for a session to 'determine if I'm emotionally and mentally sound.'" Another sigh. "They let me go back to see Nina for a while most days. But often I'm up here."

Lydia held up her hand. "Wait, why would Nina not be ready? She's about on the same level as you. More withdrawn, yet maybe more ready. No offense."

"None taken. And that's what I told them, but who knows what the reason is?" Cooper bit his lip. "Is she as upset as I think she is?"

Lydia hung her head. "Yeah. Pretty much."

He grumbled. "She always tries to act fine around me, but I know it's eating her."

"Couldn't you just refuse or fail these exercises?"

"I don't think so. They seem determined to get me out. Maybe they need to move some older BEPs so they can support new ones."

Lydia tapped her chin, pondering the situation. "What about convincing Arthur to put Nina through?"

His smile returned, hopeful and wider than before. "You could do that?"

"Sure, I can try. I'm a BEP agent in training. That has to hold some kind of clout," she said, standing. "But it'll have to wait until I get back."

"Where you going?"

"Got a mission with Jando and Aidan."

"A real mission? Not one where you sneak out again?" he asked. She nodded and he clapped, spraying water on her. "Wow! Good luck! And thanks for this. It really means a lot."

"No problem." She slapped his flipper in a friendly farewell.

"Would you mind checking on Nina? If you've got the time, that is?" he asked as she left.

"Sure thing." Outside, she watched for a moment while he dipped underwater and swam light and swift, jumping in the air to perform twists and spins.

Lydia grabbed a sandwich and soda for an early lunch before heading to see Nina. Once there, she found Gary, the BEP Division's counselor, standing near her pool, calling into the water. He scratched his beard thoughtfully and batted a clipboard against his thigh. Lydia figured he must be doing the same with Nina as he did with Cooper, evaluating the effects the discharge had on her. When she entered, he lowered to his hands and knees and pressed his lips close to the water. "Ms. Sanders, won't you please come here?"

Lydia tried to keep her thoughts and feelings in check. Gary's ability was deeply affected by others' emotions, which amplified his own emotions to an extreme version of theirs if he didn't keep himself in check. One person wasn't too much for him to handle, but strong emotions from two or more people could prove disastrous. No doubt Nina was still angry and depressed, and Lydia didn't want to accidentally tip the scales with a second presence, throwing Gary into a fit like the last time he counseled her and her mother while they were grieving. However, he kept his empathetic ability at bay, not letting anyone sway him one way or another this time.

"Are you in a meeting?" Lydia asked him.

"She was scheduled for an appointment with me. But she refuses to surface, and I'm already late for a meeting with Arthur." He shook his head and jotted on his clipboard. Then he talked to the water again. "I have an opening for an appointment this afternoon. I'll come back then, okay?" No answer besides the lapping waves. He nodded to Lydia and left her alone with the pool.

Lydia stayed by the pool, eating her sandwich and drinking her soda. She peered at the water, searching for Nina. "Nina?" The rippling and shifting water obscured anything below a few feet. However, once or twice, she thought she saw a shape on the bottom. "Nina?" Lydia knelt close to the pool. "Nina." As she expected, still nothing. Why should she have better luck than Gary?

Looking around, she wondered if diving in to catch her would help. No, she could outswim me. Maybe calling her name repeatedly to annoy her? That's what Wren would do. Eventually, she rested on her haunches and continued speaking to the never-ending sloshing water. "I visited Cooper," she said, finishing her meal. "He's worried about you." Silence. She felt foolish talking to the water. "I told him I'd speak to Arthur, see if I could convince him to put you through to leave with Cooper."

Minutes passed and Lydia saw no sign of her. So she left, heading to her dorm to pack. Yet as she passed the pool's window, she thought she spotted Nina's eyes in the water. In a flash, they disappeared.

At her dorm, Lydia found Wren in the hall, arms shoved down her shorts and waddling after a pug, pretending to chase it. Her hands had formed large, ice-shaped gloves. "I'm gonna getcha!" She grabbed at it several times. Their next-door neighbor, Janice, was attempting to calm the pug down. But being able to speak and understand dog speech couldn't beat the threat of a cold, chilling hug. The dog barked and circled Janice's legs, who shuffled her feet and apologized when she believed she'd stepped on the dog. Wren gave Lydia an upside-down, jerky wave.

"Where were you?" she asked. "Missed you at school."

Lydia entered their dorm and started packing a change of clothes and a couple of books to read on the flight. Wren chased the dog past their room. "I got a mission," Lydia said.

Thump! An ice-free hand and Wren's head appeared, her face alight and glowing. "Really?" An ear-splitting squeal followed Lydia's nod. She grabbed Janice, brought her into the room, and pulled the two girls into a group hug.

"Ah, cold, cold!" Lydia said, shrugging out of her grip.

Wren shook off the other ice glove and polished off one of her water bottles. "This is awesome! And you're going today? What are you going to do? Track someone down? Capture some bad guys? Go under cover of darkness to infiltrate a high-security place? Does it have to do with Heather?"

The last question threw Lydia off-guard and she stiffened in shock, staring at her. How did she know about Heather? Oh, right. It's Wren.

Wren gasped. "It does, doesn't it? Going to find her, aren't you?"

"I don't think I can talk about it," Lydia said.

Wren bobbed her head sagely. "Right, right. Got you. Mum's the word, hush hush. Can't have it leaking out." Lydia finished packing and flopped on the bed. "Still, it's great. Congrats!"

Janice finally coaxed the pug to her and scooped it into her arms. "Yes, good for you," she said, looking at the ground when she spoke. The pug barked and nibbled on Janice's long and floppy dog-like ears. She winced and tucked her ears behind her shoulders.

"He's saying 'Good luck,'" Wren said, scratching his scalp.

"Actually, he needs to be let out," Janice said. She excused herself and left them alone.

* * *

The refueling took longer than expected, so they weren't ready to leave until early evening. Brentle had already finished adjusting Lydia's braces and warned her to be careful. "Try to bring them back in one piece this time," he said.

"I'll try," she said. "No promises though." He drummed his bony fingers together and chewed his lip nervously until she added, "Okay, I'll be careful with them. I promise."

Wren, Donny, Ryan, and Janice came to see the trio off. "Good luck!" Donny shouted, waving his pudgy arms while they climbed the stairs.

"Have fun!" Wren said.

On the plane, Jando selected his own section in the rear of the cabin and kicked up his feet onto the table separating his two seats from the ones facing him. "I've missed this," he said, stretching out fully. Aidan sat farther ahead, and Lydia chose a spot on the middle right, propping her legs underneath the table on the pair of seats across from her. The soft seats were nice and perfect for a short doze.

Sylvia entered and passed out a folder to each of them. "This is all the information we've gathered on Heather Stanson. Read through it, then I'll brief you."

"No thanks," Jando said, cracking open the file. "I prefer to go commando today."

Lydia gave him a deadpan eye, but she smirked while Sylvia ignored Jando. Sylvia headed to the front while they read. Soon, the plane started up, and they taxied down the Cave's runway. Within minutes, they lifted off.

Heather's file was of little help to Lydia. It contained an estimated age, last known physical description, other statistics, and an old, out-of-focus picture from a security camera. It revealed a blurry woman, with half of her face hidden in a coat. All of this, Lydia thought, was no match for her actually meeting Heather. Twice.

However, there were a few pages about her ability. She skimmed most of it, reading silently to herself. Gas builds up in cervical area. Pretty obvious. Two kinds. One lethal, the other makes victims susceptible to her influence, particularly weak-willed or exhausted targets. We already knew part of that about Heather. And so far, there is no information about where she obtained her ability, or any methods of counteracting the effects of her non-lethal gas, besides waiting for the effects to wear off. Wonderful.

Aidan shared her inner sentiments, loudly voicing, "What exactly does this tell us that we didn't know?"

"That she ages gracefully?" Jando said. "That picture is kind of old, after all."

"I think half of this file was created from our experience with Heather." Aidan pushed it across his table. "Doubt they had this much before we fought her."

"Yeah," Lydia said. She did find a short history on Heather. According to the research, Heather had moved around quite often before joining Rooke. Most of her known associates were in the medical field, and she worked at a variety of places where she would have access to medical supplies and facilities. Heather was adept at first aid and emergency care, as well as several related skills. Many of the associates reported she wanted to know more about BEP conditions and her own ability.

No known cure currently exists for her condition, and that is what Heather seeks. Yeah, she told me as much, Lydia thought. For if she doesn't release her gas on a regular basis, it builds in her system and will poison her body. The poison is likely to be highly lethal. She stopped there. Okay, that's new.

Under the known associates, she found Mark and Finster. A cold hate crept into her heart, especially when she fixated on Finster's name. Her father's murderer. The hostage situation at the bank, where Finster, Heather, and Mark had kidnapped her parents, and then used them to lure Lydia to the bank. The particular moment when her father died going toe-to-toe with Finster, all in an effort to save her, replayed in her mind. Ghost pain flashed through her leg. She squeezed the spot where the weathervane had pierced her during her final fight with Finster and shut the file.

Sylvia entered and called their attention to her. "If you haven't finished going over the file, you can do so later. For now, I need to brief you. As of several hours ago, Heather was last seen in the Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest in Washington. Our mission is to find and capture her. Preferably before she crosses the border into Canada."

"Why's that?" Lydia asked.

"Because Canada's BEP Division has been unable to send any agents to the border. Law enforcement is standing by in case she slips past us, but we would like to contain this situation to our own country if we can help it."

"Wait." Lydia tilted her head. "There's a Canadian BEP Division?"

Sylvia leaned on a pair of seats and crossed her arms. "Yes, Ms. Penner. Every country has a BEP Division of some kind. Different names, different organizational structure, but all serve the same function as ours. BEPs don't only appear in the U.S. after all."

That made sense. Lydia had never considered that other BEPs had sprung up all around the world. It was strange and exciting to think about.

"Now, we'll be coordinating with local law enforcement to capture Heather. You are to respect them and follow their orders, unless you hear otherwise from me. You're still agents in training, not agents yet. You'll also be staying with me at all times. I must remind you that Heather could be hiding anywhere, so it's imperative that you stick close and tread carefully. I know her. She'll have some traps ready or an alarm system to warn her if we trip it. She'll likely be armed, too. Any questions?"

Aidan raised his hand. "What if we get separated?"

"Try to find me or one of the others."

"And if we should run into Heather first?"

Sylvia stared at him. "Do not engage under any circumstances on your own. I know you've heard that she's injured, but believe me, that doesn't make her any less dangerous." She looked around at them, and her gaze lingered on Lydia for a moment longer than on the others. "Don't let the past cloud your judgment. Am I understood?" They all nodded. "Any other questions?" There were none. "We'll be doing this late at night, so I suggest you get some sleep after you finish the file. Can't have any of you sluggish and unprepared, okay? If you need anything, I'll be up front." Then she left.

Jando browsed through some of the file, but soon succumbed to sleep. Aidan stayed awake, covering a piece of paper and writing. Lydia joined him on the other side of his table. "Can't sleep either?" he asked.

"No."

"Me either. First mission jitters too?"

"A little," she said, drumming her fingers on the armrest.

He paused in his writing and looked up. "It's Heather, isn't it?" She gave a tired nod and rested her chin in her palm, staring at the beige carpet. "Afraid how you'll react?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm not sure what'll happen. I vowed I'd keep myself under control and not seek revenge."

"Well, saying and doing are two different things."

She mock frowned. "Are you saying I'll lose my temper?"

"No, not at all," he said. "I'm just saying they're separate. I believe you can control yourself."

"Thanks." Truth be told, she was fearful that the old hate would return and overwhelm her at a level she hadn't experienced in months. She kept quiet about the way Finster's name had caused a stir of that uncontrollable anger. If his name alone brought back to life those feelings, what would her seeing his accomplice in person do? "I haven't really been sure what to feel. When they found Heather, all I knew is that I wanted to be a part of whatever happened."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he said, setting down his pen. "Could be you've embraced your duties and are concerned about capturing a rogue BEP."

She bounced the idea about. "Maybe." Lydia wasn't convinced, but there was no point running in circles. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Aidan reached across the table and patted her hand. Then he appeared to remember his writing and hurriedly returned to it.

"A letter?" Lydia asked, leaning back and closing her eyes. A short nap was in order.

"Yeah," he said. "Hey, how do you spell Dariela's name? I forgot."

Lydia's eyes snapped open and she peered more closely at the letter. His arms hid large sections of it, but she saw the addressed envelope tucked in close to his chest, with Dariela's address already filled out. "W-Why?"

"Because the letter is for her."

She sat up straighter and folded her hands. "Look, I've been meaning to talk to you about this." She checked that nobody else was listening, but lowered her voice all the same. "You're not using Dar as a rebound, are you?"

"A rebound?" His eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean about what happened? Oh, no, no, no. Who do you take me for? Jando? Get rejected, move onto the next?"

"Except I don't get rejected," Jando called out. "Don't go spreading rumors about me."

"No, you only get rejected by Lydia," he said to him. "Go back to sleep."

"She'll come around soon enough." Lydia didn't even have to turn in her seat to know that he flashed a large grin. She chuckled and shook her head.

Aidan faced Lydia again, talking softly. "Anyway, no, it's not like that. Dariela and I hung out and she was pretty cool. We like each other. Really."

"And it has nothing to do with what happened before?"

"I'm not using her as a rebound. She's your friend and I wouldn't do that to you." Holding out the letter, he asked, "Is it two or three a's?"

"Two." Lydia spelled the name for him and he thanked her. His answer eased Lydia, but not as much as she'd expected. There was still a discomfort in the pit of her stomach about the two of them. She wrote it off as simply the oddity of their match. Lydia headed back to her seat and settled in for a nap. However, she was hindered by the worry of finding Heather, envisioning that she would dole out deadly revenge and rationalize any punishment by claiming Heather was as responsible as Finster had been for her father's death. She shoved the fear aside, but it stayed on the edge of her consciousness for a long while until she drifted off.
Chapter 7- Gassed

The moon sat high in the starry sky as Dilbert landed the plane at a small airport. A police officer waited for the group beside the tarmac. "I'll take you to the forest," the officer said after greeting them. They climbed into his car and Sylvia tossed a satchel between the front seats.

They drove for about half an hour on a lonely road. Jando had fun making his door disappear and watching the scenery pass by in a blur right beside him. Lydia cleared her mind of any concerns about Finster or Aidan and focused on the mission. You got this, she told herself. I'm ready. All the same, she offered a short prayer that she wouldn't lose control when they confronted Heather.

When they reached the Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest, she picked out some fir trees lining either side of the road. The rest were giant shapes, like two jagged shadow arms, welcoming them into the forest's bosom. Only the barest hints of green were visible. In the distance, black mountain masses rose out of the earth and lorded over the land.

Shortly into the forest, the car stopped in front of several other vehicles and dozens of officers, forest rangers, volunteers, other employees, and an EMT team. They turned their attention to Sylvia and the group as they climbed out.

"Good evening," Sylvia said, addressing everyone. "I'm Agent Sylvia Romero from the BEP Division. These three are Lydia Penner, Aidan Keyes, and Jando Oliveira. Now, what's the situation with Heather Stanson?"

"No sign of her yet," one of the rangers said. "We figure she might be sticking to the rivers or creeks. Our people found a campfire this afternoon not far from Methow River. Looked like it had been covered up in a hurry. There was still smoke coming off it, and we found blood, bandages, and old sutures in some brush nearby."

"She knows you're onto her," Sylvia said. "Let's hope she doesn't know we're here yet. Makes sense that she would be near the river. Might be using the water to clean her leg."

"We've had our people searching around there and the other creeks and rivers. The other districts have been alerted, too."

"Good, good. Anything else? No? Okay, then before we head out, I need to make one thing clear. Do not engage Heather on your own. And if you must, keep your distance. Although injured, she is to be considered armed and dangerous, a true BEP threat."

One of the officers raised her hand. "What's this 'BEP' nonsense?"

"Biologically Enhanced Person. Heather is one such person." Sylvia received blank stares. "She's capable of releasing two types of toxins that are equally harmful."

Already, Lydia heard some of the confused murmurs and eye-rolling mutters rising. She took Jando and Aidan aside while the same officer asked, "Do you mean she's creating some sort of gas bomb? Where's she getting the materials for that?"

"No, not bombs. The toxins originate from within her body. I know it sounds ludicrous—"

Sylvia was cut off by whining metal. The people had stopped paying attention to her, and she spun around. Lydia lifted the front end of a ranger's Jeep off the road and tipped it close to standing straight up, puffing in bursts and snorting harshly through her nose. Jando touched the vehicle, causing it to vanish except for its headlights shining into the air. Meanwhile, Aidan flew around and under the display, waving his arms and modeling their abilities.

Grinning, Sylvia faced the stupefied audience. "A good example of what BEPs are capable of. Like I was staying, avoid confronting her by yourself if at all possible. Now, we should spread our search to five miles of the Methow River and any other water source. I don't think she'll be able to go far on her leg. She may also have set some traps or alarms in the forest, so be careful."

Lydia gently lowered the Jeep and grunted. She leaned on the hood, resting her arms and catching her breath as Aidan landed beside her. "Good idea," he said.

She nodded and her breathing evened out. That seemed easier than she thought it would be. Maybe she was getting a little stronger. Then again, I didn't have to throw this one. She looked out into the thick rows of trees. Somewhere out there was Heather. Their first official mission started now. Lydia wiggled her body loose and checked her braces.

"This is pretty cool. Tense, but cool," Jando said. Sylvia wrapped up her speech, and everyone divided into search groups and passed out walkie-talkies and flashlights.

Checking the Jeep, Sylvia said, "The flying and invisibility were nice touches, Ms. Penner." Lydia smiled. Sylvia handed each of them a walkie-talkie and a flashlight. Then she grabbed her satchel out of the police car and slipped if over herself. From it she pulled out a pistol and holster, strapping the weapon to her hip. "Channel four," she said, adjusting her walkie-talkie. From the satchel, she also produced her brown gloves, specially woven to dampen sound on her fingertips from gunfire and other loud noises. "You three ready?" she asked, pulling the gloves on.

"As we'll ever be," Aidan said.

"Just take it easy and stay close."

They fell in line behind her. Lydia stretched her arms across her chest and flipped on her flashlight. Take it easy. They entered the dense forest, stepping on bumpy tree roots. We're ready.

For hours, they searched the Methow River and surrounding forest. Nothing crossed their path besides an occasional critter running home, or nocturnal birds flying past, faintly calling to one another in the trees. Insects chirped their evening lullabies, creating a peaceful mood in the forest. Sometimes Lydia heard a splash, but it was either one of the other search parties accidentally stepping in the water, or some debris from a tree falling into it. The flashlights barely helped and showed several feet ahead at best, forcing them to comb the area carefully and thoroughly. What made it worse was the hilly ground with no pattern, which rose up and down, like their hopes of finding Heather.

Every couple of hours, they would break for fifteen minutes and regroup at the cars, driving farther upriver. At two in the morning, some of the police left to search another area. Lydia caught as much shut-eye as she could during the breaks, wanting to be on full alert during the searches.

At about three, Sylvia's group decided to turn back and check the other side of the Methow River. They found a spot a little less than a hundred feet wide across the water and asked Aidan to fly them across. He didn't believe he could make it though.

"One after the other? Maybe one, but I'll be too tired for the rest, and we'll definitely fall in." He eyed the water and backed away from it. "Perhaps there's another way across."

Lydia coaxed him to the edge and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's not a long way. You can do it."

He sighed and agreed to it, taking Sylvia first and quickly crossing. He slowed down for Lydia, who enjoyed dipping her toes into the rushing water. She giggled at the small wake her feet created. With Jando, he dropped lower, submerging the boy's legs a few times.

"Cut it out! That's cold!" Jando said.

"My bad. It was an accident."

"Watch it, or I'll pull you in."

"Don't worry. I got you," Aidan said. "Nothing to worry about." His smirk said otherwise, but he set Jando safely on the opposite bank.

"You know," Jando said, shaking the water off his legs, "if this lasts 'til morning, Aidan could search by air then."

"Heather is armed," Aidan said.

"You can dodge her. And the treetops are thick enough to hide behind."

"Tell you what we'll do. Let's take that idea, tie it to a balloon," he gestured tying a knot, "and let it float off to find someone as stupid as you who thinks that's a good plan."

"Tie you to the balloon instead and let you float off back to the homeland," Jando said, receiving a scowl from Aidan. "Actually, we're pretty close to the border. Could punt you across."

"I'll fly you into the ocean and—"

"Quiet," Lydia said. "How can we listen out with you two arguing?"

Sylvia nodded her thanks and they trekked on in silence. Lydia grew more frustrated every minute that Heather eluded them. Not that she expected to find her within minutes, but they had yet to locate her trail. What if they didn't find Heather tonight? How long would they stay out here searching? She bit down a yawn and checked Sylvia's wristwatch. Half an hour until another break.

As her energy waned and she started to believe that Heather might be in Canada already, their walkie-talkies came to life. "I see her! I see Heather!"

Sylvia snatched her walkie-talkie off her belt, ripped off a glove, and pressed her fingers to the speaker. "Where? Where is she?"

"Upriv-ack!" A gunshot went off on the walkie-talkie and reached them moments later in the distance.

"This way! Hurry!" Sylvia sprinted ahead and the others followed. Lydia braced herself, her nerves electrified once more for the hunt.

* * *

"My feet are killing me," Oliver whined as he tripped across a fallen tree. He groaned and crawled around, rubbing his shins. Lionel chuckled while Mark helped him to his feet.

The three had arrived shortly before sunset and searched for hours. Every now and then, they drove the car Whyte provided for them to another section of the forest, hid it, and scoured the surrounding area. The only sign of life they came across were small birds and rodents. Mark led the way, carrying their only flashlight and following Lionel's directions. They wandered around aimlessly, however, with no clear idea where to find Heather in the dark. That suited Mark just fine.

"Let's take a break," Oliver said, stopping and steadying himself on a wide tree trunk.

"We have to find Heather before anyone else does," Lionel said. "Quit being a baby."

"Easy for you to say. You go through these stupid roots." He picked up his feet, massaging his shins and ankles. Then he cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled, "Heather! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"Do you mind?" Lionel said hotly, smoke jetting into Oliver's face. He coughed and waved it away. "We're trying to find her quickly and quietly, remember?"

"Doubt she'll hear us anyway," Oliver said, more to himself. "A forest is a big place. We need a faster way to search."

"Well then, Bright Eyes, what's your suggestion? Enlighten us."

"Oh, there's that rare pun-ny side!" Oliver said, clapping. "I could burn down the forest and smoke her out."

"Yeah, sure. Burn down the forest and smoke her out to Canada," Lionel said, scoffing.

"Burn the north side then?"

"Do you even listen to yourself speak?"

"I have to. Can't very well see myself speak, can I?"

While they carried on, Mark picked out a pair of voices ahead. He shushed the others and dropped to the ground behind a bush. He pulled Oliver down with him and Lionel caught on, taking a spot behind a tree.

Two flashlights waved through the air like a pair of searchlights. "I tell you, I heard someone shouting over here."

Lionel threw Oliver a dirty look. Somehow, Oliver knew and shrugged an apology in his general direction.

"It's probably just one of the others," a second voice said. Two forest rangers climbed onto the plateau they hid on. The rangers shined their flashlights around briefly. "See? Nothing."

The second ranger's walkie-talkie crackled. "Find anything?"

He unclipped it. "Nah, it's nothing."

"Let's search here," the first one said.

"Why?"

"They got the river covered. Could be something here."

The second one moaned. "Fine. But no more climbing. Last thing I want is to break my neck falling in the dark." As they set off, he said, "No, actually, the last thing I want is to be out here this late."

"Gripe, gripe, gripe," the other said.

"When does the next shift get here?"

As they disappeared into the forest, Lionel rushed to Mark and Oliver. "Get up," he whispered. "Get up! Let's move!" They scrambled after the rangers, keeping a safe distance from them and hiding behind trees and bushes.

"What are we doing?" Oliver asked, tripping as he gripped Mark's hand tight.

"Following them. They have more people," Lionel explained before running to the next tree. The rangers stopped to check a series of bushes.

"And they're likely to find Heather first," Mark finished.

"Exactly. Shut up, I think I hear them." The rangers checked in with another search party and moved on.

Happy as he was that they wouldn't find Heather first, Mark had to keep Lionel from stealing her from the BEP Division. When Lionel urged them on, he fell behind, insisting that the ground was too difficult for Oliver. "Watch it," he said, jerking Oliver this way and that. "You're going to fall if you're not careful." Even in flat areas, he pretended there were plenty of holes and slippery areas. "Be careful in this part," he said, guiding Oliver slowly through it. Lionel was too focused on the flashlights ahead to notice he was lying.

Dangerous ground or not was no excuse for Lionel though. After they nearly lost the rangers twice, Lionel rounded on him, his face inches from Mark's own. "I don't care what's on the ground. Stop acting like dead weight or you will be."

Mark's throat became ashy and clogged, the air fighting to break through. He choked, unable to concentrate on anything but the cold feeling in his mouth. He nodded and Lionel's smoke released him. Mark welcomed the air and Lionel jerked his head. "Keep up."

An hour of tailing the rangers yielded nothing until they returned to the riverbed. One of the other search parties excitedly called them. "I see her!" There was nothing to conceal them between the tree line at the top of the slope and the rangers. Lionel drifted closer to the river anyway, belly on the ground and in the open, listening. "I see Heather!"

A different party answered. "Where? Where is she?"

"Upriv-ack!" A gun went off on the other end. The rangers jumped, turning to look upriver when the echo reached them. One spun too far and spotted Lionel. He nudged the other and they screamed.

"What the Sam Hill is that?!" one shouted.

Before either could react, Lionel leapt between their faces. He extended his body, his head disappearing into one ranger's mouth and his legs slinking down the other's. The rangers stood there, clutching their necks and gagging. When all that was left of Lionel was the small of his back, they fell to the ground, wide-eyed and limp.

Mark helped Oliver down the hill. He stood far from Lionel, who pulled out of the throats and reformed. "Mark," he said. "Grab their walkie-talkie."

Shuffling forward, Mark took one walkie-talkie with shaky hands, then went back to Oliver. "You got both at once, didn't you?" Oliver asked. Lionel passed by without an answer. "Yeah, you did! The double choke!" He smacked Mark in the head. "Oops." Oliver quickly patted his back. "My bad. Some kill, huh? You should see him do it with three."

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" the walkie-talkie said. The voice sounded familiar to Mark.

"Ah, Sylvia!" Oliver said. "Haven't heard her in a long time."

Several others reported in to Sylvia. "We're heading to the gunshot," she said. "Anyone nearby, get there fast! Remember: do not engage Heather on your own."

"C'mon!" Lionel said. "Let's hurry!" They ran along the river. Mark caught several looks from Lionel, but he kept pace this time with Oliver.

Hope they're closer than us, he thought.

* * *

Sylvia's group came upon two downed employees and an officer about two hundred feet from the river. All were alive, though they groaned and stayed in the dirt. Sylvia radioed it in, calling for a medical team, and examined each of them. "You'll be okay," she told them. The officer's pistol was missing and she sighed. "Perfect." When she finished checking the downed party, she stood, wiping dirt off her knees. "Doesn't look like they were seriously hurt. Or gassed. Maybe we're lucky and she doesn't have any toxin built up at the moment."

"Or maybe she's saving it for us," Aidan said.

"Thank you, Mr. Sunshine," Jando said, heading forward with Sylvia.

"Just considering all options."

Sylvia picked up some discarded, blood-stained cloth. "If her wound tore open, it should slow her down." Sylvia unholstered her own pistol and moved through the trees. "Spread out, twenty feet and stay quiet. She could be nearby."

When they turned to fan out, a jangling ding-a-ling rang out. Everyone rounded on Jando, who lifted his foot. A wire was caught on his shoe. At the ends tied to tree trunks were tiny bells. He picked the wire off, setting it down and stepping over it.

"Great. The ding-a-ling here let her know where we are," Aidan said.

Lydia peered into the dark forest. Heather could be hiding behind—or—in any tree. Her heart raced and she left the others to their own sections. After a couple of hundred feet, they all heard a rustling ahead.

Sylvia trained her gun on the sound. She slowly approached the rustling, while the other three came at it from an angle. However, one of the other search parties emerged, raising their hands when they came face-to-face with Sylvia. She lowered her gun.

"Sorry," one of the group members said.

"Any sign of her?" Sylvia asked.

"None so far."

She nodded. "Okay. Check along the river back there. We don't want her doubling back."

The group left, and Sylvia and the others went back to searching. She had them spread out farther until they barely saw one another through the trees. Lydia took the far end away from the river, shining her light from side to side. She aimed the flashlight at the ground, adjusting her eyes to the darkness for a moment. That seemed to help, and she thought she saw better.

A shadow darted to her left at the light's edge. Lydia followed it, looking back at her group every dozen feet. Their flashlights broke through the trees enough to lead her back like fireflies. She climbed a hill and spotted something moving up ahead. Lydia ran after the figure.

Suddenly, an arm clotheslined her. Lydia fell onto her back with a whump! and the shadow hopped over her. She reached out, grabbing the hem of its pants. A foot collided into her forehead, then her arm. Lydia let go and scrambled to her feet. She forgot her flashlight and chased after the fleeing woman.

"Heather!"

The warnings and caution forgotten, Lydia bolted after her. Despite Heather running in a snaking path through the forest, Lydia easily gained on her. The woman ran on her good leg and kicked her left leg forward, keeping it in the air as much as possible. Lydia cleared most of the distance between them. The whole time, she focused on Heather, the urge to catch her driving her to pump her feet faster.

It was only by the light of the moon that she saw the metal glint. Lydia ducked to the side, hiding amongst the trees as Heather fired. The gunshots boomed in the silence around them. Bits of tree bark shattered in front of Lydia as bullets embedded into the wood.

When she heard a click, Lydia sprinted at Heather. The woman threw the gun and reached into a bag swinging on her shoulder. She hurled a pot and water cups at Lydia, grabbing anything hard to fight off her assailant. Just as she chucked an empty bandage tin, Lydia leapt. She tackled Heather to the ground, rolling and wrestling with her. Heather kneed her in the stomach and threw her off. But Lydia struck Heather's bad leg as she jumped up. Heather cried out and crashed to her knees.

Lydia jumped onto her back, arms wrapped around her neck. She dragged Heather to the ground, holding her and staying on top. Heather elbowed her side and bashed her head into Lydia's nose. But Lydia refused to give up and squeezed tight, pinching the other woman's windpipe shut.

Heather gasped and choked, clawing at Lydia's arms, struggling for air. Lydia suddenly realized what she was doing and loosened her grip. No longer choking, Heather wiggled and fought, turning to face her. In the dark, her mouth opened wide and the hissing gas poured out. Before Lydia could clamp her mouth shut and hold her breath, the tasteless gas seeped into her nose and throat.
Chapter 8- Emergency Pickup

Lydia's mind and senses became dull, fuzzy, and lethargic, except for her hearing. "Let me go," Heather said, pushing against her. Let her go. That sounds like a good idea. She should do that. Let Heather go.

On the edge of her thoughts, an inner voice refused and demanded that she hold onto Heather. She'll escape if you let go! Escape? That sounded bad, but at the same time, Heather repeated her command, and that seemed to be right as well.

Heather punched Lydia in the ribs. That automatically loosened her grip and Heather slipped free, rubbing her neck. No, you have to stop her! Stop her. A retributive urge rose inside Lydia, which she'd felt before. Awkwardly, she crawled toward Heather in large, clumsy movements and latched onto her legs. Heather looked back at Lydia, shocked. She tried to shake Lydia from her legs, but the girl held firm.

Reaching backward, Heather elbowed Lydia in the temple. "Let go!" she said more loudly. Lydia's arms loosened, then stopped.

Defend yourself. She blocked Heather's next attack with her forearm. Heather frantically jerked one foot out and kicked Lydia's face and shoulders. She dug her heel into Lydia's arm and pushed until her other foot popped out. Then she used a tree to pull herself up.

Get her. Lydia scrambled to her feet, the thought breaking a larger hole in the fuzziness. Just enough so that she ducked low and rammed her shoulder into Heather's back, pinning her to the tree trunk. Lydia spun her around, held her by the throat, and raised a fist. Heather almost escaped again. Her hand tightened on her neck, squeezing slowly. The fist's fingers clenched tighter, ready. She would make sure this woman never escaped to cause more pain, to hurt anyone else.

The thought, No. Not like this, interrupted Lydia. A great desire to let her fist fly whispered in her ear, but it was one she was warned not to give into. Lydia dropped her arm. In the distance, several voices were calling her name. She threw Heather to the ground and kept one foot on her chest. Heather tried to twist her leg off, but Lydia pressed harder, trapping her there. That was all she could do, with the strong commands swirling through her foggy mind

Flashlights swiveled back and forth through the forest until Sylvia, Aidan, and Jando found her. "Over here!" Sylvia yelled.

"Whoa, nice job," Jando said, shining his light at Heather, then at Lydia.

Lydia nodded and formed a drawn-out, "Thanks." She was vaguely aware of something warm trickling down to her lip and touched her nose, staining her fingers in blood.

Sylvia tilted Lydia's head higher and held the flashlight up. She checked her eyes and turned her head to the left and right. "She's been gassed," Sylvia said.

"Is she okay?" Aidan asked, shining a light in Lydia's eyes. She shielded her face and pushed away the bright light.

"I think so. She's still alive, so it's the nontoxic one. Acting on her own. Heather probably hadn't built up a full blast." Sylvia still seemed surprised, but she turned her attention to Heather. With the flashlight on her, Heather looked worse than Lydia expected. Her face was pale, drained of most color besides dirt and stains, some covering up the scar on her cheek. Her dirt-stained emerald scarf hung loosely about her white neck, exposing purple finger marks, and Sylvia glanced at Lydia, concerned. Heather's hair was a mess and she shivered in pain. The blood on her leg soaked through the rushed dressing on it, and Sylvia wondered aloud about infection. "Need to get this looked at by the paramedics."

Sylvia dug through her satchel and popped a pill into Heather's mouth. Then she produced a mask with pencil-point holes in it. Sylvia attached it to Heather's nose and mouth, strapping it tightly around her head. "New designs from Dr. Barrett and Dr. Brentle. The pill can track her. They based it on the ones Rooke used and added their own touches. His was better, but ours isn't too shabby." She pulled out a handheld device and flipped on a switch. The screen on it lit up and zoomed in on a display of their current location on a geographical map. "It'll kick in in a few minutes. Good for a fifty-mile radius. And that," Sylvia said, pointing at the mask, "should filter any of her gas and make it harmless."

Lifting Lydia's leg off of Heather, Sylvia assured her that it was fine. "She's not going anywhere. Isn't that right?" she asked Heather, tapping on the filter. The woman mumbled behind it. "What? Can't hear you. Looks like it's a bit tight. Sorry about that," she said, a disingenuous smile streaking across her lips.

Sylvia picked up Heather, produced a set of handcuffs from the satchel, and slapped them on Heather's wrists behind her back. During the arrest, Heather continued to stare at Lydia, not angry or defeated, but curious, thoughtful. Lydia turned elsewhere and focused on clearing her mind and her bloody nose.

The cloudiness was dissipating at a gradual rate, replaced by sore, sensitive bruises and tender spots from the fight. After Sylvia radioed to the other groups and they started to head back to the cars, Lydia's walk was slow and heavy, like she was in a dream. Jando helped Sylvia watch Heather, while Aidan supported Lydia through the forest, her arm around his shoulder and leading her. They met up with one of the other search parties along the way, effectively containing Heather and keeping her from suddenly bolting.

When they reached the cars, they loaded Heather into one of the open Jeeps, with no windows and a skeleton frame of bars for a roof. "Tell everyone we're thankful for their help," Sylvia said.

"Will do," one of the cops said.

Many of the search parties returned, some gawking and pointing at Heather. She glared at them, breathing heavily into her mask. The ambulance had arrived for the downed searchers, and one of the EMTs examined Heather. He concluded that she should be fine for travel and cleaned and dressed her wound. Then he examined Lydia while Aidan let her rest on his back. Her nose had already stopped bleeding, but the EMT offered her gauze for her nose and checked her bruises and coherence from the gas attack. Near to them, Jando flirted with one of the younger park rangers.

"Yeah, this isn't the first time we've chased her down," he said, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. "It was much worse in Golden Springs. Took a bullet in my leg there, but I didn't care. I was only concerned about saving the people in the hospital." She seemed to have lost interest and was busy filling out paperwork.

One of the rangers called out, "Has anyone seen Sammy and John? I can't raise them on the channel."

"They probably got a bad battery," one of the older rangers said. "C'mon. Let's go find them."

Lydia stayed close to Heather, while Sylvia talked to the officer who drove them to the forest. As her mind cleared, she realized Heather was watching her, those thoughtful eyes refusing to leave her alone. Lydia looked elsewhere, her nerves settling down. They had caught Heather. All was well.

Except I nearly lost it, she reminded herself. The temporary rise on the plane was a sneak peek. All the anger and fury from Golden Springs came rushing back. Lydia believed herself in control after that incident. And now? Now, she didn't know. She feared that all the training, and then who knew what would happen.

In fact, being close to Heather wasn't helping matters. Lydia moved away to one of the other vehicles, keeping Heather out of sight. She folded her arms and leaned on the driver's door.

"Hey, you okay?" Aidan asked, approaching her.

"Yeah," she said. "Just, you know, relaxing."

He nodded. "Must've been pretty intense." She agreed and they stood there for a while. Aidan kicked his feet. "Gas still messing you up?"

"Not so much," she said.

"What was it like?"

"Kind of like you're half awake and not really thinking yet, you know? Your mind's all mixed up and everything she says sounds good to you."

"Well, you did well," he said.

"He's right," Jando added, coming over and nudging her shoulder. "You should be proud of yourself."

Proud of letting her anger ambush her and get the better of her? It was just leftovers from before the vow. A little pent-up rage. But it's out of your system, and you overcame it in the end.

Barely, she thought. That's what she first believed after killing Finster, but thinking of him or the others still riled her.

This whole thing was a side effect of the gas. You weren't in full control of your body. That sounded plausible. She hoped that the aggression was gone. If she relapsed into her hate—well, she brushed the thought from her mind. Lydia forced a smile and thanked Aidan and Jando. They headed off to the car as Sylvia finished up with the officer. She waved to Lydia that they were leaving.

"I'll appreciate your sticking closer and not chasing someone down on your own again," she told Lydia at the car. "But good job."

Lydia mumbled a thanks, and climbed into the front seat with Sylvia.

* * *

"Perfect. Just perfect," Lionel said, growling while they watched Heather led away by the search parties and to the cars. The additional search group prevented them from ambushing Sylvia and the others. "So much for getting her out of here quietly."

Mark breathed easy, happy that she was safe and seemed to be in good health. Sure, Heather was a bit of a mess. Yet considering her life on the lam these past months, she still looked fair, those familiar, comforting brown-hazel eyes poking out beneath soft, dyed chestnut hair. His heart did a little jump when he noticed that she still wore the scarf he gave her. He hoped her capture meant they could head home. But Lionel stayed hidden in the bushes with them, watching the group pass. "What are you thinking?" Oliver said. "Tail them in our car?"

"No, it would take too long to get back to ours and find them. But," he said, turning and looking off into the forest, "maybe we can borrow ones of theirs. This way." He took off into the trees. Mark guided Oliver quietly through, avoiding rocks and branches.

They stayed parallel to Sylvia's group, following them back to the vehicles. Once there, Lionel selected a large police SUV near the rear of the vehicles and out of the general light, with two officers in the front seats. A window was cracked in the back. Lionel slipped inside, and a short time later he called for Mark and Oliver to open the back doors.

Mark opened the doors, and Lionel directed him to move the two dead bodies to the backseat. As he carried them, Mark tried to keep his head down and not look at their terrified, gaping mouths or touch their gradually cooling skin. Oliver helped him, and when they'd finished, Lionel crouched next to them. "Okay, the two of you get dressed. Then get in the front and act natural."

The officers' clothes were too small for Mark, even if he sucked in his stomach. He managed to hide that his uniform wasn't completely buttoned when he sat down though. It felt dirty and disgusting to wear a corpse's clothes. Mark planned to have a long, long shower when they were done.

Ahead, Sylvia and Lydia entered one of the Jeeps and left with several other cars. "That one has Heather," Lionel said. "Start the car."

Mark obeyed and inched around the line of other vehicles. The radio crackled with many rangers, employees, and police announcing their return to work or the end of their shift. They blended in with the others, heading toward the sunrise.

"Not too close," Lionel said. "Keep your distance. Wait until we're far away from the cops and this forest. Then we'll take them."

* * *

The sun rose into the sky as the Jeep left the forest behind and traveled down the same road Sylvia's group had come, wide and unchanging with almost no intersections. Still empty as well in the day, save for the occasional car heading in the opposite direction and a distant police car in the rearview mirror, acting as an escort. Sylvia called Dilbert, informing him of the capture and that they were returning to the airport. "Have the plane ready. We should be there in twenty minutes."

Lydia leaned on the door and closed her eyes, enjoying the wind whipping through her hair. The sun shone bright and warm on her eyelids, changing the insides red. She was so used to the high-hanging lamps of the Cave's cragged ceiling and the fluorescent lights of the Center and dorms that nature's own light was alien and unusual. She enjoyed it and allowed the cool, fresh air to fill her chest, lifting her cares away on the gusts. As she reached the point of complete peace, the radio in the Jeep came to life. "Hello? Agent Romero?"

Sylvia grabbed the speaker. "Yes, who is this?"

"This is Officer Cooley behind you. The station called me just now. They received a report that Sammy and John, the two missing rangers, were found dead near the Methow River."

"How were they killed?" Sylvia asked.

"Seems like they were choked to death. Odd thing is that it looks like they both died at the same time. No sign of strangulation or what could've caused it. We can't find a sign of any struggle or that they fought anyone. Thought it might've been your friend there."

Sylvia and Lydia turned to Heather. She gave a shrug and shook her head. Since her capture, her neck had been expanding steadily under her scarf. It was fascinating to Lydia, although when she caught herself staring, Heather did, too, and Lydia pretended to look elsewhere.

"What time did it occur?"

The cop sighed. "They guessed shortly before we found Heather. We'll know more when the coroner arrives."

"I don't think it was her then," Sylvia said. "One of mine was hit by Heather's gas, and she can't build up another dose that quickly."

"Alright. Thanks for your help then."

Heather sat up straight in her seat, wide-eyed and panicked. She struggled in her handcuffs and jerked her head. She spun in her seat, looking behind and to the sides at the open land and valleys in the distance. Heather leaned forward and yelled at them, the sounds muffled by the filter.

"Hold her back," Sylvia said. Jando and Aidan pulled her down into her seat, but she fought with them, elbowing their ribs. "Heather! What is it?" Again, she leaned forward and tried to talk to them. Then she made a series of disgruntled noises and looked at the filter. "Fine, we'll take it off after you exhale all the gas."

Thin, wispy smoke seeped out of the filter, and Heather's neck deflated until the scarf dropped low to her chest. Sylvia allowed Jando to lower it from her mouth. "Now what is it? Do you know something about this?"

"We need to get to the airport now. Step on it," she said.

"Why? Who is it?"

In the side mirror, their escort had been replaced by a police SUV, the sirens running. In the distance, smoke spiraled into the air from the side of the road. Lydia pointed it out to Sylvia, who moved the Jeep to the side and slowed down. "No!" Heather shouted. "Keep going!"

Lydia peered at the SUV. A man with sunglasses sat in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead. Then she checked the rearview mirror. The driver had a cap pulled low, hiding his face. As the SUV changed lanes, it started to match their speed.

Sylvia drew her pistol and laid it on her lap. Then she handed Lydia her cell phone. "Tell Dilbert we might need an emergency pickup. And be ready to grab the wheel." Lydia called Dilbert, each ring dragging out as the SUV closed in.

Finally, Dilbert answered. "Hello? Sylvia?"

"No, it's Lydia." Sylvia drove faster and the SUV copied her. "Sylvia said to tell you we might need an emergency pickup."

He was silent for a moment. "Right," he said, his tone serious. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

Sylvia took the radio. "This is Agent Romero. Can anyone hear me?" No answer. "Officer Cooley?" Static.

The SUV was alongside their left side. The man in sunglasses rolled his window down and leered out at them. "Sounds like a mighty fine car!" he yelled over the wind. "Let me take a closer peek at it!" He lifted up his glasses and opened his eyes. Before flames engulfed their Jeep, the driver turned to Lydia, his frightened face unmistakable.

Mark!

* * *

The flames fanned out of Oliver's eyes, bursting free of their tiny exits. Wild and unpredictable, they swarmed the entire road in a blazing fury that warmed Mark's skin. Oliver bowed his head, setting his gaze straight at the Jeep. Screams and shouts filled the air, all drowned out by the whoosh! of the fire.

"Did you get them?" Lionel asked, craning his neck, searching through his window. "Did you get them?"

"You tell me," he said.

Oliver closed his eyes, and the fire vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. The last of the flames twisted into smoke in the sky. The Jeep was charred on its side, but intact and off the road. Sylvia yelled somebody's name and cocked her gun as Lydia steered. When Mark listened closely, it sounded like "Dilbert!"

"Get us closer!" Lionel said. "Ram them hard."

Oliver climbed over the seats to the dead bodies in the back. Mark obeyed Lionel and pulled to the right, ignoring Sylvia's gunfire and slamming into her car. Crunching metal boomed as they collided. He pushed them farther off the road and toward an approaching steep valley. Bullets struck the SUV, smashing holes in windows, zipping through Lionel, or embedding into the side. Some broke the windshield, showering Mark in large chunks. He jumped and jerked the vehicle to the side, then remembered his invulnerability. As long as I live, I'll never get used to that.

"Almost got them," Lionel said. "Hit them again and hold it there. I'll take care of the rest."

Mark did so and overtook them, forcing the Jeep at an angle. Lionel positioned himself at the window, waiting for the opportune moment.

Suddenly, Lydia crawled into the backseat of the Jeep. She grabbed the bars of the bare roof of their car and stood on the door. Then she pushed back, swung her feet out, and stomped the SUV. She grunted and kicked their vehicle off the Jeep.

The force threw the SUV horizontally, and Sylvia turned, her tires dangerously close to the valley. She drove onto the road, speeding off. "After her!" Lionel yelled.

Oliver rejoined Mark up front, armed with an officer's pistol. The SUV gained on the Jeep, bumping into its rear. "Get on the side," Oliver said, cocking the gun.

"You can't see!" Mark said.

"I can a little when I open my eyes." There was no escape for the others this time. The right side of the road dropped into the deep valley, and the SUV blocked the left lane. He aimed and opened his eyes, shooting next to the mass of flames covering the Jeep. He traded gunfire with Sylvia, and they barely missed each other. Oliver took shelter behind the door and kept the fire going, blocking Sylvia's view.

In the commotion, Mark heard a loud engine pass by. He stuck his head out the window. It sounded like a plane and was getting closer. Where—?

The plane flew over the chase, touching down on the straight road ahead and taxiing. The rumble and wake rattled everyone in the SUV. They were so shocked by the sight that they didn't realize that the Jeep, its wheels on fire and heavily blackened, was driving ahead to the plane's open cargo hold.

"Drive faster!" Lionel shouted.

* * *

"Okay, it's lowered," Sylvia said. The cargo hold ramp stayed a few feet off the ground, and she drove the Jeep close enough to jump across. "Who's first?"

"Aidan, you go," Lydia said. "You can fly and help anyone else across."

"I can't fly that fast," he pointed out and thumbed Jando. "Send Mr. Athlete here." A bullet whizzed by his head and he yelped.

"I got an idea," Lydia said. She stood up in her seat with Aidan. The wind threatened to knock them back down, but she held onto the top of the Jeep. She lifted Aidan and flung him hard into the cargo hold. He tumbled about, crashing onto the ground inside and rolled over. "That's one!"

As she reached for Jando, the SUV caught up and flames licked the Jeep. They fell back from the plane. Up ahead, the road began to climb up a hilly path. The plane lifted off the ground, flying above them, then turning to come back around. Sylvia's phone rang, and she tossed it to Lydia while shooting at the SUV.

"I'm looking at the road up here," Dilbert said. "There's no straight section for me to land this thing. And I can't match your speed and stay in the air."

Lydia looked up. "Is the cargo hold still open?"

"Yes?"

"Fly over us and bring the plane in as low as you can."

"Will do." He hung up and the plane lowered, following the gradual rise up the first hill.

Bullets pierced the rear of the Jeep, causing Lydia, Jando, and Heather to duck. Sylvia shot back, switching between watching the road and the SUV. "Hold it steady!" Lydia shouted. The wind blew her hair into her mouth as she stood. She spat it out and helped Jando to his feet.

The Jeep swerved on a sharp turn on the hill, and the plane headed off from them. The SUV was beside the Jeep again. This time, when the SUV rammed it, a pair of hands dragged Heather out of her seat. She kicked and fought as she was ripped out of the Jeep and into the other vehicle.

Jando dove after her, half his body inside the SUV. The shooter sat in the back, holding Heather down. Another, a bald man, sneered at Jando and his body lost its shape, forming a black smog cloud with feet. The cloud swirled around Jando's head and entered his nose and mouth, choking him. Jando clutched his throat, starting to slip off the SUV.

Lydia leapt onto the SUV's roof and punched a hole in it. The pain stung her hand. Ignoring it, she ripped the hole open wider until it was large enough for two bodies to fit through. The bald man yelled, the fringes of his body wavering in the wind. He released Jando and leapt to the back corner of the SUV, away from the roaring gusts of wind.

Meanwhile, the shooter raised his pistol and opened his eyes. Lydia weaved away from his aim and socked his jaw. He fell down and his gun went off. Lydia took the opportunity to grab Heather and yank her out of the seat.

"Jando!" Lydia shouted. He had regained his breathing and looked up. Nodding, he jumped back to the Jeep. The hill dipped, throwing Lydia and Heather off balance. Lydia planted her feet on the open window of one of the doors. Then she passed Heather to Jando, who helped her back into her seat.

Lydia jumped for the Jeep right after, narrowly missing gunfire where her feet had been. Sylvia covered her, shooting back. Her gun clicked after several bullets. "I'm out!" she said.

The plane came within twenty feet of the vehicles on the next steep hill. Aidan leaned out of the cargo hold on his hands and knees. "You ready?" Lydia asked Jando, gripping his shirt tight.

"You're not serious," he said. But by then, the plane was almost above them. Lydia threw Jando into the air in an arc. He soared through the sky, flailing his arms and legs, a shrill scream fading the higher he went. When he was near, Aidan reached out, stretching his hand. Lydia sucked in her breath. They were so close. Jando's fingers touched Aidan's—

He slipped!

Lydia's heart stopped.

Before he fell, Jando latched onto the bars that opened and closed the cargo hold door. He swung side to side like a flag in the wind. Aidan grabbed his arm and dragged him safely into the hold.

Lydia heaved a breath she had been holding. That's two.

The road twisted and turned, forcing Lydia back into her seat. The fire returned from the SUV, burning the rear of the Jeep. Lydia and Heather flattened themselves close to the front and ducked away. The scorching heat set their pores alight as if they were caught in the blaze.

"I'm starting to lose control!" Sylvia said. The wheels looked like they were partially melted.

Dilbert flew the plane in for another pass. "We won't last long enough to do this three more times!" Heather said. Lydia strapped her filter back on, shutting her up, and tried to think of a plan, something to save them all.

In the cargo hold, Jando found thick cargo nets piled in a corner. He tossed one side of a net to Aidan, and they tied it to some holds on the inside of the plane. Then they unfurled the rest of the net, letting it drag out in the air, several feet above the ground.

Lydia spotted the net and smiled. Right on, guys. She climbed into the front seat with Heather. The road stopped twisting and turning as much, forming short straight paths with sharp corners at each end. All gunfire had ceased from the SUV, but the flames were destroying the Jeep.

"Keep it steady!" Lydia said to Sylvia. She stood in her seat with Heather. Sylvia saw the flapping net and caught onto Lydia's plan. She dropped her satchel on the gas pedal, weighing the pedal down, and jammed her gun into the steering wheel, keeping the Jeep from drifting. Then, still with one hand on the wheel, she got on her feet.

"On three!" Lydia said. "One!" She grabbed both women's shirts. "Two!" The net was ten feet high. "Three!"

One of the wheels popped with a bang! and the Jeep lost control. The three fell back onto one of the roof bars. Lydia quickly straightened up and hurled Sylvia, and then Heather, at the net. Sylvia grabbed the end of the netting. Heather caught the edge, slipped out, and clung to Sylvia's legs instead.

The gun fell out, the Jeep heading to the side. Lydia crouched, gripping the roof bar tight. I must be out of my mind. Then she propelled herself forth with her arms, flying into the air. She managed to grab Heather's shoes, squeezing hard. The woman looked down, angry and shaking her legs. Lydia eased up.

In the hold, Aidan and Jando hooped and hollered. "Yes! Alright!"

"Stop celebrating and pull us in!" Sylvia told them. They dragged the women in, inch by inch. Down below, the Jeep sailed off a hillside and crashed at the base, a complete, burning wreck. The SUV stopped its pursuit and the people stuck their heads out, watching them fly off.

When they were safely in the cargo hold, everyone collapsed, lying or sitting down and panting hard. No one talked for a minute as the plane circled around and headed back to the Cave.

Finally, Lydia sat up on her elbows and peered down at the Jeep as they passed it one last time. Most of it was totaled, smashed on all sides, and fire ate what wasn't. She turned to Sylvia. "Your insurance is going to skyrocket."

Sylvia laughed airily while the cargo hold door closed.
Chapter 9- Recommended Discharge

On the return trip to the Cave, Aidan and Jando congratulated Lydia and deemed her completely fearless and insane. "If being an agent doesn't pan out, you could become a stuntwoman," Aidan said.

"No, thanks," she said. "Even I know that what we just did was crazy."

"Part of the job," Sylvia said, sitting up front with Heather. "You did well."

"Very well," Jando said. "And if that's part of the job, I wouldn't mind. I can take it." His pale face and twitchy fingers disagreed. He excused himself to the restroom, walking a little too casually.

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay," Aidan said. "You had us worried."

Lydia held his hand across their table and smiled. "Thanks. I'm fine." He played with her hand, rubbing the top with his thumb. It was warm and pleasant. Lydia twisted her hand to do the same to his.

"Uh, yeah. This'll be a story to write home about," he said.

"Are you kidding? My mom would freak out if I told her," she said, chuckling.

"Yeah. Although I'm sure Dariela will love to hear it."

Lydia nodded and heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I'm sure she will." Probably something to add to your letter.

Aidan winced and stood up, bending his arm and tugging at her grip. "Ow, ow! Lydia, you're breaking my hand."

She looked up and released him. "Oh, sorry. Spaced out for a moment." He massaged his hand as Jando returned, looking better than before. Lydia turned to Sylvia and Heather, who were in a one-way conversation. Sylvia leaned in close to Heather, but the woman seemed to gaze everywhere except at her. Her eyes often fell on Lydia.

Lydia ignored Heather for the rest of the trip. She found herself incredibly drained from the mission and managed to catch a couple hours of shut-eye. When they landed at the Cave, Sylvia led the group off the plane and to the Center. A pair of armed security guards waited by the entrance. "Process her, then take her to one of the holding cells," Sylvia said, passing Heather off to them.

Holding cells? Lydia had never seen one during her stay, but she supposed she should have expected the place to have them. The division did deal with rogue BEPs, who would need to be housed somewhere for a time.

Before they whisked Heather away, Barrett stopped them, throwing back her curly hair and glaring at the group like an upset parent. Or, with her age and the glasses dangling from her neck, an upset grandparent. Her hard, no-nonsense expression made Sylvia gulp. She sucked on a cigarette like it was sour candy and squashed it in an ash tray on the front reception desk. Already back to her usual self, Lydia noted as Barrett stuffed her hand in her white coat and produced a penlight and a stethoscope.

"Good thing I caught you before you did something rash," she said, holding Heather's face and twisting it back and forth in her examination. "Like run off before I could check them." She muttered to herself as she came across the bruises and finger marks on Heather's neck. Then she focused on the leg wound.

"I was going to bring everyone by afterward," Sylvia said. "They're fine. An EMT already checked them."

"Oh, an EMT checked them," Barrett said sarcastically. "Arthur didn't mention that. He only told me what happened and that I should be on standby, but an EMT checked them? I guess there's no reason for me to be here then, is there?" She allowed the guards and Heather to leave for the time being. She checked Lydia next, shining the penlight in one eye, then in the other. "Tell me, was this a genius EMT? Or someone who went to a special school where EMTs are trained for as long as doctors? Hmm? And was this before or after you jumped a hundred feet in the air onto a moving plane?"

"They're all fine."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Arthur needs to debrief them," Sylvia said, trying to encourage the teenagers to come along.

"Debriefing can wait." Barrett opened Lydia's mouth, shined the light in, then listened to her heart with the stethoscope. "She's been gassed, and I'm not letting any of you out of my sight until I've checked you all."

"But Arthur—"

Barrett gave her an evil eye. "Debriefing can wait," she said, enunciating each word one by one. "Now stand there and wait until I get to you." Sylvia relented and Lydia giggled. We should send Barrett out on missions. She'd scare everyone into giving up.

Barrett checked everyone's vitals as well as any injuries Lydia and Jando might have sustained from Heather's gas and the smoke BEP. After she concluded that the pair were well enough, she said, "If you start feeling lightheaded, come see me. Otherwise, all of you get plenty of rest and take it easy." She turned to Sylvia. "I mean it. All of you. Doctor's orders."

Sylvia faced the three teenagers. "I know you're probably tired, but Arthur needs to debrief you. I'm sure he'll make it short, okay?" she said to them as much as she did to Barrett. The doctor agreed and left them. The three yawned and stretched, following Sylvia to the elevators and to Arthur's office. He welcomed them all inside. The chairs seemed especially comfortable to Lydia, and she nearly fell asleep then and there.

"A very big congratulations is in order," Arthur said, sitting on the front of his desk. "I know it was a lot to ask from you, but from what Sylvia radioed to me on the plane, I couldn't have wished for a better result. You all did an outstanding job. Especially you, Lydia."

She raised her head, smiling briefly. "Thanks."

"Now, we'll be interrogating Heather later on, and you're welcome to watch. You've earned it after all." He clapped and Lydia jolted awake. "Your final exams for school have been postponed for a couple of days, so don't worry. You'll have more time to study. That's about all I can think of for the time being." He turned to Sylvia. "Is there anything you wanted to add?"

"Just that you three did well. We won't be training for a few days, so take it easy and relax," she said.

Aidan mumbled what they were all thinking. "Thank. You."

"Okay, you're dismissed," Arthur said. "Go get some sleep." Sylvia escorted the boys out of the office, but Lydia stayed seated. Arthur looked up from digging through some papers on his desk. "Was there something else, Lydia?"

"I'd like to talk to you privately," she said.

"Sure." He waved Sylvia on, and she shut the door behind her. "What is it?"

Lydia sat up straighter, blinking hard and shaking off the exhaustion on her shoulders. "I wanted to talk to you about Cooper and Nina."

"Cooper? Oh, yes." Arthur picked up a folder. "Yes, I was looking over his file a while ago."

"You're planning to let him go but keep his sister here," Lydia said. "I wanted to ask you to let his sister go as well."

His eyebrows knitted together, and he opened a file cabinet behind him. "Hmm, let's see. Nina Sanders." He took out another folder and perused it for a few moments. "I'm afraid we can't do that. I don't see any recommendation to be discharged."

"Recommended by who?" Lydia asked.

"Warren Harper. He's in charge of who leaves and who stays," he said.

Lydia's head drooped, the exhaustion winning, and she sucked in a deep breath through her nose. Then she opened her chest, forcing herself to stay focused. "I thought you were in charge of who leaves."

"I have the final say and approve who goes," Arthur said. "But Warren makes the recommendations."

"Can't you just go over him?" Lydia asked.

"I could, but I trust his decisions," he said, closing the folder and setting it aside. "Look, it's never easy breaking up families that come through here. I don't like it any more than you do."

Lydia clenched the arm of her chair. There had to be something she could do. "Where is Warren Harper? Maybe I could talk to him."

"Down the hall, to the right, his office is on the left," Arthur said, pointing. Lydia thanked him and headed down the hall to the office stenciled with WARREN HARPER, RESOURCE AND DISCHARGE MANAGER.

Inside, a secretary sat behind a small desk, typing on her computer. Her mass of curled hair bounced up and down, and her glasses dangled askew on her nose as she switched between reading memos on her desk, answering the phone, and typing. A closed door was behind her in the opposite corner from Lydia. When Lydia entered, the secretary froze in the middle of a call. "Hang on," she said to the phone. "May I help you?" she asked Lydia.

"I need to see Mr. Harper," she said, approaching the desk.

"Are you here to file a complaint?"

"No, no. I just need to talk to him."

The secretary relaxed and waved to one of the chairs against the wall. "Please have a seat. Mr. Harper will be with you as soon as possible."

Lydia took one of the chairs and drummed her legs, trying to stay awake. She hummed, slapped her thighs, bobbed her head, any movement to keep her brain working. Meanwhile, the secretary chugged on, never pausing in her tasks. It was quite the sight, like a machine that filed papers and sent off emails all during numerous phone calls to other departments. A steady rhythm that required expert coordination and multitasking. Lydia fell into a trance watching the woman work, dial, type, and file. Her eyelids drooped heavily.

She snapped to attention and looked elsewhere, counting down the minutes on the clock above the hall door. Several people walked through the hall, but the one that caught Lydia's eye was Heather, flanked by the same two guards. She assumed they had finished processing her and were escorting her to the holding cell. As they passed the office, Heather peeked in and saw Lydia. Again, that same stare. It really irritated Lydia, and she wished Heather would stop. She nearly shouted out, "What?!" to her. The guards pushed Heather on and out of sight.

The door in the corner opened and a man came out. He appeared as frantic and as rushed as his secretary. His thin, boyish blond hair would've fallen off in a gentle breeze, and he didn't raise his eyes to anyone around him. The man carried a phone in one hand and a binder in the other. "Megan," he said to the secretary, dropping the binder on her desk, "send an email out to the cafeteria. Tell them for the final time, the schedule for the food we order is sent out every week as a reminder. If their moron of a head chef needs something different, then he needs to drag himself up here and tell us two weeks ahead of time."

"Yes, Mr. Harper," Megan said.

"Unbelievable," Harper said, flicking through the binder. "Bunch of ingrates, causing more problems. No, not you, Bill," he said to his phone. "You want to make the expansions to the Center when?" He snapped his fingers at Megan. She slapped a notepad and pen in his palm. "Yeah, sure. What time will the meeting be?" He scribbled down a date on the notepad and held it so that Megan could read it. She nodded. "Okay, that'll work. Bye."

Megan handed Harper a stack of notes and letters. "Missed calls and your mail. You also have a visitor," she said, pointing at Lydia.

Harper turned to Lydia, looking through the notes. "And you are?"

"Lydia Penner," she said, standing. Her legs wobbled, begging to rest.

"Lydia Penner," he repeated to himself. "Came to us at the end of August. Increased strength. BEP agent in training," he said, more to himself than to her. "What do you want?" He opened a letter, grimaced, and tossed it into a trash can.

"I came to speak to you about Cooper Sanders's discharge," she said. "And how you didn't recommend his sister Nina to leave."

"And?"

"And I wanted to know why she wasn't recommended," Lydia said.

"That's confidential information that only Ms. Sanders may know," Harper said.

"Would you change your mind and recommend her?" she asked.

"No," he said. "She's not ready to leave. If that's all, Ms. Penner, I have a lot to do and no time to do it." He stopped and swore, thrusting a letter at Megan. "Get Hank on the phone. I'm not dealing with his nonsense anymore." Then to Lydia, "Have a good day." Turning on his heel, he headed back to his office.

Lydia went after him. She couldn't give up that easily. "Wait, maybe you could re-evaluate her?" Lydia tried. He still didn't look at her, even when she stood in front of him. If he would only take a moment to talk to her.

"I already have. She's not ready and that's all I have to say on the subject," he said, inching around her and into his private office. He plopped down at his desk, opening and discarding more mail.

She wiped her face, her frustration, anger, and exhaustion at their breaking points. "Please, at least reconsider—"

His nose stayed in a letter. "No, Ms. Penner. Now good-bye."

Lydia raised her palms and slammed them on his desk, tearing off two large pieces that ended in finger shapes. Slowly, she realized what she had done and removed her hands, looking at them and the desk. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." She trailed off and brushed the bits of wood from her hands.

Harper jutted his lip, a puff of air escaping, and laid down his mail. Never taking his eyes off the holes, he said, "Megan!"

"New desk?"

"New desk." Harper folded his hands. "At least you didn't chop it in half like the last BEP." For the first time, he looked Lydia in the eye. "Ms. Penner, let me make myself clear: Nina Sanders will not be reevaluated at this time. I have not made the decision to keep her here lightly. It's in her best interest.

"As for her brother, we have to move people out constantly," he said. "We can't afford to house BEPs here forever. Ms. Sanders will be discharged when it's her time to leave the Cave and not before. Now, would you see yourself out? I have some calls to make."

Numbly, she stumbled out, drained and tired. What would she tell Cooper? He had been so happy when she vowed to help. She had to face him with empty hands and a sympathetic, "I tried." What good was that?

Lydia went to the dorms and entered her room, thankful that Wren was out taking final exams. She slumped onto her bed and buried her face in the pillow.

* * *

Mark's stomach growled. The pizza delivery man was late. Lionel sat on the other bed of the motel room, watching the evening news. There was a short segment earlier on a crashed Jeep and the dead officers. A later story focused on a couple of stolen vehicles, a police SUV abandoned at a gas station with two dead cops inside, stripped to their underwear, and a brown van, currently missing and its owners bewildered. Lionel had insisted they ditch the brown van a few miles up the road at a shopping center before walking to the motel. Mark wasn't sure where they were; it looked like the outskirts of some Washington town.

Oliver exited the bathroom, fanning the air behind him as the news showed a police sketch of him and Lionel. An older photograph of Mark was beside them. "Woo! Don't go in there for a while!"

Mark leaned over, looking into the bathroom. "You sure you didn't need help getting around in there?"

"No, no," Oliver said, washing his hands. "No, I can handle myself fine once I learn where everything is. What'll really keep you up at night is 'How do I know when to stop wiping?' Eh? Eh?" He tapped his temple, then left Mark to puzzle that. "Pizza here yet?"

The doorbell rang, as did Oliver's disposable cell phone. Oliver handed Mark a wad of bills to pay for the pizza and answered the phone. "Hello? You've reached the office of Light, Cloud, and Waller Associated. Please state the reason for your call," he joked. He was silent for a few moments. Mark eyed him, keeping the door pulled to and trying to block the delivery man's view inside. He took the pizza and change and kicked the door shut. "Yeah, hang on. I'll put you on speaker."

Lionel and Mark gathered around the phone. "Is everyone there?" Whyte asked, an edge in his tone.

Oliver opened the pizza box, picking out a slice. "Yeah, we're all here." He ate his piece, spilling cheese and mushrooms at every other bite onto his arms. He wadded the cheese pieces into little balls and pressed them back into the slice. "Might want to be quick. I haven't had a chance to buy more minutes."

Valerie spoke up. "Guess you didn't capture Heather."

"Oh, the gang's all here," Oliver said, his mouth full. "You're right. We just missed her. Should've seen how crazy these guys were. They jumped onto the plane while it flew above us! Can you believe that? Daredevils, these new ones. I like them."

"New ones?" Whyte asked.

"Yeah, that one girl and her friends." Oliver snapped his fingers. "Uh, what's her name?"

"Lydia," Mark said.

"Yeah, Lydia and those two boys. They were helping Sylvia."

"Were they?" Whyte murmured to himself, too quietly for Mark to hear what he said. "Was she shot? Or did she bleed at all?"

"Not that I know of," Oliver said.

He wants her blood. Mark's suspicions had been right about Whyte's investigating the strength-invulnerability formula. He hoped this interest in Lydia would distract from the topic of failing to capture Heather. However, that proved to be wishful thinking on his part. "Back to the matter at hand, we are without Heather as a bargaining chip for the negotiation with the U.S. And I have been watching the news for the past hour. Your faces are all over the screen."

"Please tell me they got my nose right," Oliver said. "It's not too big, is it? Tell me it's not too big."

Sensing that Whyte was about to rip into them, Mark ran through as many options as he could, trying to find some way to stem his anger. There had to be some way to buy time. Some suggestion to reach Heather that he could then use to slip away with her before Whyte caught her. But she was with the BEP Division at this moment, wherever their base was, with no way to contact her at all.

Contact. Contact. "Mr. Whyte," Mark said, startling Lionel and Oliver.

"Yes?"

"We could still reach Heather," he said. "We know where she is after all. At the BEP Division's base." He paused, waiting for some sort of objection. "Why not have your contact tell you where she is?"

Again, there was a silence. "I'm afraid that's not possible," Whyte said. "My contact is limited in the information given to them. Only some of the BEP Division know where their base is, and my contact isn't one of those people."

"Can't you just track their position?" Mark asked. "You know. Triangulate it or whatever."

"No. Cell phones, computers, and anything of the like are searched and confiscated upon entry to their base, save for top personnel. My person is limited to a computer tied to their network and a landline. Even if the incompetent fool smuggled something in, their base is underground and the reception is terrible. We couldn't pinpoint their exact location with a tracker or anything without being close to their base already."

"Whoever it is, is technologically stunted," Oliver added. "Sheila's trying to help them build a phone that we could possibly trace and talk privately on, so the BEP Division wouldn't be listening in. But so far," he shrugged, "it's not going well. Doesn't know the first thing about electronics or machinery to save their lives, and the BEP Division is short of the parts needed anyway."

"So we know nothing about where they're at?" Mark asked.

"All we've discovered is that it's on the east side of the country, more to the north. Although," Whyte spoke to himself again. "I wonder if we could use Heather. Maybe she could," he grunted, "no, never mind. We have to focus on the U.S. negotiations. Can't lose sight of that."

"How come?" Mark asked.

"Because if we can convince a superpower like the U.S. to employ us, we'll have an easier time convincing other countries," Whyte said. A tense pause passed, and Mark shirked from the phone, preparing for an outburst. "I'll have my contact monitor Heather," he said finally, and Mark breathed easy. "Meanwhile, I want you three to lay low until I can take care of your notoriety. Then, I have another job for you. Hopefully one you won't fail," he said, enunciating his words.

Mark shivered, but he was happy. Bullet dodged. "What is it?" Lionel asked.

"My contact informed me of a pending discharge from the BEP Division, some swimmer from Vermont," Whyte said. "Sounds like he would be useful. And maybe we could get some intel from him. I'll call you when I get more details."

"Righty-o," Oliver said. Whyte ended the call and Mark sank onto the bed, his muscles like melted butter. He hardly paid attention to Lionel, who said he was going for a walk. "Kind of hard to walk in your state, isn't it?" Oliver asked, chuckling. Lionel ignored him and split his body apart, squeezing through the cracks in the door.

Oliver lay back on his hands after finishing half the pizza and stretched out on the floor. "Hope we don't have to stay here the whole time. I'll go crazy."

With Lionel gone, Mark figured this was the perfect opportunity to find out more about Whyte's power. The question had bugged him nonstop on their trip. "So, Oliver?"

"So, Mark?"

"You said Whyte can see into the future?"

"That's right," he said.

Mark licked his lips. "How far into the future?"

Oliver cracked his neck and kicked his feet onto the opposite bed, his rear drooping toward the floor. "Enough to know when I'm about to ask for a raise," he said. "Keeps dodging me then." He smiled and folded his hands behind his head. "But how far? Who knows?"

"Are we talking years or something?"

Oliver looked upside down at him, the sunglasses giving the impression he was staring right at Mark. "Well, I don't think so. But for appearance's sake among the mercenaries and others below us, we let them think that."

"So it's not years?" Mark asked.

Oliver shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. He's never really told us. I'm guessing a few days, but others say a day or an hour. Still, even an hour is pretty good."

"And he can see the future for everyone? What every person will do?"

"It's only his future. Things directly related to him. I think. Not sure. Why so curious?" he asked. "Trying to surprise him?"

"No, just wondering. You have to admit, it's pretty amazing."

Oliver agreed. "That it is. Guess you get jaded after a while. But between you and me, fire is cooler."

Mark held his face and looked at his knees. A man who saw at least an hour into the future. How does one escape that? How could he fool Whyte and leave, especially with Heather? The more he discovered about Whyte, the more his chance to escape his clutches fell. Perhaps turning himself into the police or the FBI was the only way. Even that was risky, as Whyte might know about his intentions beforehand, and he was always watched at the base. He definitely never wanted to return there.

Then he realized that this wasn't the base. Here, in this uncontrolled environment, he could alert the police, be arrested, and let them take care of this. First, he thought as he eyed Oliver, I have to do it when they're not around.

"Let me put it this way," Oliver said, patting Mark's back. Lionel entered and sat in his chair, returning to the news. "I wouldn't play Whyte in a game of poker." He laughed and nudged Mark. "You'd have better luck in a casino." The boy forced a grin.

"Speaking of casinos," Oliver said, "it's been a while since I've been to one. I'm itching to go again. You ever been, Mark? No? Hey," he rose up, his finger pointed to the ceiling, "we're close to Vegas."

"We're a thousand miles from Vegas," Lionel said.

"Hey," he said, pointing higher, "compared to how far the base is, we're relatively near Vegas. Why don't we pop on down there for a little fun?"

"No," Lionel said.

"Oh, c'mon. We could use some relaxation. And what better place to lay low than a tourist hotspot? What do you say, Mark? Feel up to it?"

Vegas. Plenty of people and plenty of places to lose yourself in. An easy city to hide from others—or to place one phone call for freedom from all this. Certainly with more opportunities than the cramped hotel room. "Sure," Mark said. "Sounds good."

"See?" Oliver said. "We'll head down there, lose some money, have some drinks, and enjoy ourselves." Lionel gave a heavy grunt, wispy trails exiting his mouth and circling up to rejoin his scalp. "I'll take that as a yes. Vegas, here we come!"

* * *

Lydia slept until evening and watched television off and on throughout the night. The following morning, she stayed in bed longer than usual. For the better part of an hour, she wallowed under the sheets, dreading telling Cooper the news. Eventually, she crawled out of bed, dressed, and headed to the pool, figuring he deserved to hear it first thing. She wanted to get it over with as well.

Most days, Cooper had a happy demeanor and his mood was bright. Unlike Wren though, he didn't possess unending energy and smiles. Lydia's heart ached as his freckled face fell when he heard her story about meeting Arthur and Harper.

"And that's all he would say," Lydia finished, leaving out her outburst. "That the information is for Nina's eyes only." He detached himself from the edge of the pool and floated with the gentle current, like a broken leaf waiting to be scooped out by a pool boy. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. Thanks for trying," he said. "Like I said, I think she already knows why."

"She still won't tell you?"

"Nope," he said. He reached one end of the pool, lazily paddled himself the other way, and drifted by her.

"Wish I could do more," she said. "I'll try talking to Nina. Maybe if I know what the problem is, we can find a way to fix it."

He chuckled. "Good luck with that. If she won't tell me, well—," he said, trailing off, letting let her fill in the blank.

"Yeah, but I'm still going to try."

The door opened and Jando poked his head in. Lydia waved him over, and he greeted them. "Hey, how's it going?" he said, high-fiving Cooper.

"Not bad. Yourself?"

Jando smiled. "Oh, you know. Car chases, catching crooks, gunfights. The usual."

"You'll have to tell me sometime," Cooper said.

"So what's up?" Lydia asked.

He thumbed the door. "They're starting the interrogation. Sent me down to get you."

"Let's go then," she said, hopping up. "See you later, Cooper."

"See you. Thanks again." He dived and swam along the pool's bottom, while they headed to the holding cells.
Chapter 10- Clever Little Sneaks

The holding cells were on the second floor, not far from the pool and behind a locked janitor's closet. Jando knocked on the door and Sylvia opened it, a folder in hand. They stepped around piles of cleaning supplies, mops, and brooms, and through an opening in the side wall. A metal shelf slid into place behind them as the wall closed. They stood in front of a guard's post with Arthur, Aidan, Morella, and Gary, the last who tucked a folder like Sylvia's under his arm. A security guard rose from his semicircle desk outfitted with camera monitors and punched in a code for another door to their left.

"She hasn't spoken since you brought her in," the guard said, opening the door. He let them pass through first, and the door closed behind him with a harsh hiss and a chunk! "Just sits there. Every now and then she walks around the room."

The hall they walked through was constructed of coarse gray walls, like the guard's post, and a single row of lamps hanging from the ceiling. The holding cell doors were thick with a small, rectangular window. Each had a speaker to their right side and a pull-out tray to transfer items between those in the hall and those in the cell on the left. Only a couple were occupied by prisoners reading or sleeping. At the fifth door on the right, the last one, the party halted and the guard pointed inside. "There she is," he said.

Lydia peeked in. Heather no longer wore the filter on her face. She had changed into a white jumpsuit, but retained her scarf, which was still a little dirty and worn. Her hair draped over her clean face, hiding the scar. Her left leg was bandaged and stretched out on her bed.

Sylvia pressed the ON button on the speaker. "Heather?" The woman raised her eyes to the door. "Can you hear me?"

Heather took a deep breath. "Don't bunch up all at once to look. Not like I'm going anywhere."

"Before we come in, put these on." Sylvia nodded to Morella. He pulled out the tray and stuffed a new type of filter and two sets of handcuffs into it. Then he pushed the tray closed. Heather slowly stood and took the items, attaching the filter and then chaining her hands and feet. When she finished, she shuffled to her bed in the corner of the white room. Beside that was a shiny sink, a mirror, and a toilet, all stocked with basic toiletries.

Sylvia nodded to Arthur and the guard. The guard took a key ring from his belt and unlocked the door. Sylvia and Morella went in, and the guard shut the door behind them, locking it. He tipped his cap to Arthur and gave him the keys."Give a holler when you're finished," the guard said.

"We will. Thanks."

As the guard left, Lydia, Aidan, and Jando grouped against the window outside the door and watched the interview. Morella remained standing just inside the room, arms crossed and at full attention. Sylvia pulled up the single chair in the room beside the bed and faced Heather. She opened her folder, browsing its contents for a few moments. Then she pulled a recorder out of her pocket and set it on the nightstand next to the bed.

"Will you state your name for the record?" she asked. The noise was a little muffled through the window, but if Lydia strained, she could hear them well enough. Heather stayed silent. "That new filter will let you speak. Name?" Heather exhaled her gas in response, her neck deflating. "Prisoner's name is Heather Stanson. Do you have any questions before we start?"

"Yes," Heather said, the filter letting her voice through clear, if a little dampened. "Can we cut the ancillary nonsense and just get to the point? You want to know about the people that tried to kill us."

"Among other things," Sylvia said. "One we know is Markus Bell." Heather cut her eyes at her. "What about the other two? Are they former associates of yours? Or Finster's?" Heather looked at the window. "Maybe Rooke's?"

Heather gave a forced laugh. "Rooke. Right."

"So you know who they are?" Heather tried to kick one leg over the other, but the handcuffs yanked her foot back. "Have you worked with them before?" No answer. Sylvia glanced at Lydia and flipped through a few pages. "Let's talk about something else. How about your bank account? After the FBI froze your assets, they found a lot of payments from Rooke."

"I thought you would've figured out I was working for him," Heather said. "Or do you need me to state that for the record, too?"

"No, that's alright. But the FBI found something else in Rooke's account. It turns out that Rooke Pharmaceuticals wasn't doing as well as the official reports claimed. For years, all his profits were poured into creating the SN91 and researching a cure for his father. Yet Rooke seemed to be receiving payments to fund these efforts and keep his company afloat. Some generous donations from the CEO of Picard Aeronautics Research and the board of Xavier Construction, Inc. Now why do they care so much about a pharmaceutical company? What's the connection?" She paused and Heather made no comment. "We didn't find any link beyond that, and the CEO and board refused to comment, other than that they were trying to help save the company. Good Samaritans indeed."

"But...," Sylvia said, drawing out the word and smiling, "the FBI did find a private communication line in Rooke's office. When they traced the calls from there, they wound up at a small bed and breakfast in Massachusetts. All the FBI discovered," she said, peering at her file, "was 'waffles to die for, and some of the best coffee in the world.'"

"What's your point?" Heather asked.

"That the bed and breakfast business isn't so cutthroat that they want weaponized diseases. Someone covered their tracks well and severed all ties and communication with Rooke. That someone was funding Rooke, and maybe you as well, and letting Rooke serve as a middleman to further distance himself or herself from everything. Or this person was higher up than Rooke. His boss and your real boss, too." Sylvia leaned in. "Before he died, Rooke claimed someone else ordered you and Finster to kidnap Arnold and Debra Penner. It's true, isn't it?"

The solemn expression on Heather's face confirmed the claim. Lydia's breath caught in her throat. So Rooke hadn't lied. Someone else was responsible for her father's death. Heather refused to speak on the matter. "Is that who those BEPs were working for? Were they trying to rescue you, or are you someone they need to cover up, too?" At this Heather grumbled. "What do you know about these people?" Sylvia asked. "Are they associated with the Brigade?"

"The Rogue BEP Brigade," Heather said, tossing her head from side to side. "I really hate that stupid name. You're driven to chase after them, aren't you? You, Arthur, and Kirk, and look how he ended up." Sylvia bristled and focused on her folder. "All I have to say is that I have no associates."

"Then to confirm, they weren't trying to rescue you?"

"I doubt it," Heather said. "They were trying to kill us all before we came here."

Sylvia didn't seem convinced. "Why's that? Who do they work for? What do you know?" Heather leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms as best she could. "You have to help us if you want us to help you. If these people are after you, we can protect you. And we'll show leniency."

"Too bad I can't say the same for my former employer," Heather said. "Keep your deals and offers. They're no use. The less I talk, the better my chances. And the sooner you give up your chase, the better yours will be. But if you want to chase your boyfriend to the grave, who am I to stop you?" Sylvia tightened her fists. "I could make it easier for you. Take this filter off and you can die the same way. Then someone can find a match and light you on fire."

Sylvia jumped up, her fist raised halfway. Then she dropped it and closed her folder. "Wait," Heather said slowly. Her jaw dropped and she smiled. "He finally popped the question, didn't he? Shortly before he died, too, huh? And you said yes. I'm right, aren't I?" Sylvia snatched up the recorder and headed to the door.

"Open it," she mouthed to Arthur through the door's window. Frustrated, she cleared her throat and motioned an unlocking movement with her hand. "Open it," she said louder, her voice croaking. He unlocked it and Sylvia left the room. Heather sighed and lay down on her bed. The woman's glum expression told Lydia that she was appeared to be disappointed with the interview. Lydia had the urge to race in and deck Heather, one time. Real quick. One good hit and break her jaw.

In the hall, Arthur asked Sylvia, "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine," Sylvia said. "We're done here." She stepped aside for Gary. "You're up. I need to finish the report of our trip and then I'll file this." She waved the recorder and walked down the hall.

Lydia was incensed for Sylvia and for herself. She wanted to rush in there and demand to know who this secret higher authority was. This person was still out there, possibly targeting Lydia herself and those close to her. The BEP Division had to find and stop this person right away. She moved to grab the handle of the door, but Arthur held her back. "Where do you think you're going?"

"In," she said. "I want to know who this person is."

"I'm afraid not," Arthur said. "Leave the interrogation to Sylvia. She has more experience and training with it."

Gary entered instead and took Sylvia's chair, opening his own folder and beginning with, "How are you feeling today?" Heather gave him a frustrated look and turned her back to him. "I understand you're not in the best mood. That's perfectly fine."

Arthur ushered the teenagers out, leaving Morella to monitor Gary's session, and handing the key back to the guard. Once they were out of the janitor's closet, Arthur said, "I'll call you when we interrogate her again. Otherwise, don't enter this room." He studied each in turn, waiting for a nod from them. When he had those, he escorted them to the elevator and left them on the first floor.

"So what's the plan?" Jando asked when they were alone.

"Excuse me?" Lydia said.

"We know you," Aidan said. "You're already planning to sneak in there and grill Heather."

"How do you want to do it?" Jando wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing her hip and causing her to disappear. "The usual?"

"How about not so low?" she said.

"Can do." His hand trailed up her ribs, going higher and higher until she grabbed his fingers and pinched them. "Okay, okay. Got it. Work before pleasure."

Aidan snorted. "Pleasure. Right."

Lydia released Jando's fingers. He rubbed them and held open the Center's exit doors. "Yeah, pleasure. Have to keep up the reputation. I aim to please."

"Then I think your sights are misaligned," Lydia said. Aidan high-fived her. She pulled Jando back before he walked off in a huff. "I'll let you two know when I think of something. We'll have to watch the place somehow. Figure out a good time to go in."

"Okay," Aidan said. "Although, there's no need to rush. Let's do this carefully for once and not get caught. Whoever this person is, I doubt they'll do anything soon. That would draw a lot of attention to them."

He had a point. This person had heat on them already from trying to kill them. Anything else would bring them out into the light, put pressure on them. And Golden Springs's police had become more vigilant, according to one of Dariela's past letters.

Aidan walked ahead of them to the dormitories. "I'll see you two later. Have to finish my letter."

Lydia shoved down any of her feelings about that letter and turned to Jando. "I'll help," he said. "For a kiss."

"How about a thank you?" she said.

"A kiss, no tongue."

"My gratitude."

"Peck on the lips."

She sighed. "Friendly peck on the corner of your lips. After we do this." She raised a finger as he opened his mouth. "Final offer."

He deflated, bounced around the idea, and agreed. "Fine."

She separated from Jando at the dormitory staircase. Instead of heading to her room, however, she kept climbing the stairs to one of the higher floors. The agents and Cave staff lived there, sometimes crammed in between new BEPs, although Lydia had heard of plans to expand the dormitory building and create another floor for overflow.

Treading lightly down the hall, Lydia wandered to Sylvia's room and knocked. The television was on, but nobody answered. She tried the door handle and it opened. She entered and found Sylvia sitting on her bed, twisting her engagement ring on her finger. It had been months since Lydia had seen it, and the clear diamond on it hadn't dulled in the slightest.

When Lydia entered, Sylvia stood up, shocked, and ripped the ring off her finger. "I said to give me a minute!" She threw the ring into its box in her top dresser drawer and slammed the drawer shut. Then she shut off the television and shoved Lydia out, barring her from coming back in. "What do you want?" she asked, shutting the door for a moment, but not before Lydia saw her wipe her eyes on her sleeve and sniff hard.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you. I just wanted to see if you were okay," Lydia said.

"Yeah. I told everyone, I'm fine," she said, opening the door. She sighed and offered a small smile. "Thank you."

"She's upset that she got caught. That's all. Don't let her rile you up." Lydia chastised herself. You're one to talk.

"I know," Sylvia said. "If you don't mind, I'd like some time to myself."

"Sure." Sylvia closed the door, and Lydia walked away, to plan on scoping out the holding cells.

* * *

Unfortunately, when Wren asked Lydia the next day if she wanted help studying for her final exams, she abandoned all efforts on the holding cells and turned them to pouring through her textbooks. She cursed her forgetfulness and that it was Friday, leaving the weekend to cram for a week's worth of tests. Through much of that time, she studied and memorized all she could. She only managed to keep her promise to Cooper once to check in on Nina. It had been when Cooper was visiting her, so Lydia quietly left them alone.

Wren proved a distraction that weekend instead of a helpful tutor, but Lydia welcomed the breaks for conversation and enjoyed watching her silly antics in between intense study sessions. At times, her sessions went well into the night, fueled by energy drinks and soda. The only other breaks were in the form of training sessions, when Ryan and Wren listened enthralled to her recant the daring escape on the plane.

"That sounds so awesome! I want to be an agent and do that!" Ryan said, reenacting it by swinging around while Wren fired ice bullets at him.

Aidan and Jando were in the same position as she was. All three spent the next week taking make-up exams and studying for upcoming ones. They barely had enough time for training, which for Lydia meant more focus on her tailing targets. "You're getting better," Sylvia said, catching her when Lydia lost her for only a moment, "but you still need practice."

Worse still, they almost couldn't squeeze in time to witness more of Heather's interrogations. Sylvia conducted the questioning again, and again left empty-handed. She received the same results all week, no matter how easy or harsh she was in the session. Gary had a little more luck. "Heather hates this mystery person with a passion," he said. "In my opinion, she wants them dead."

"Then why not tell us about them?" Lydia asked.

"She fears this person, too," he said, stroking his beard and checking his notes. "More than she lets on. Heather is desperate to stay hidden from whoever it is."

"Isn't she already?" Lydia waved her arms at the holding cell hall. "We're in a secret area of an underground government facility! You can't get more hidden than that."

Gary had no answers to explain the rationale. Lydia pondered what Heather's reasoning could be, but she put it aside for the time being. That would be one of the many questions she would ask when she confronted Heather. It had to be soon. According to Arthur, they had to turn Heather over to the FBI that month. "Maybe they'll get something out of her," he said.

When the week came to an end, Lydia wanted to collapse. The late nights and caffeine overload threatened to bowl her over. It was with welcome relief she penciled in the final question on her math exam, the very last exam, on Friday afternoon. Despite starting late on studying as well as the brutal nature of the make-up exams, she felt confident she had come out on top overall.

She rose and handed in her test to the teacher. "Thank you, Ms. Penner," he said. The only other student in the room followed her, handing in his test as well. But when the teacher grabbed it, the stapled papers stuck to the student's hand. The teacher and student pulled apart, but the test clung to the student by a trail of sticky slime.

The student yanked suddenly and the slime snapped, the papers tearing and scattering everywhere. His hand smacked his face and stuck there, no matter how hard he pried at it. Part of a test was trapped between his hand and face. He bent down to help the teacher pick up the papers but was waved off. "No, no. I'll handle this, Mr. Friedman." The student pulled at the trapped piece and it ripped further. "It's alright. I can read most of your answer for that question. Thank you."

The student left, tugging at the piece and at his hand, and Lydia headed to the mail room. Aidan was there, reading through his letters. "How do you think you did?" he asked. The mail clerk handed Lydia a couple of envelopes. One from her mother and one from Dariela.

"I think I did alright," she said, walking to the dormitories with Aidan. "How about you?"

"Eh, I think I passed English, but I'm not so sure about Chemistry."

"Well, at least it's over," she said. "Now we can watch the holding cells. Figure something out." Today, she was too exhausted. She wanted to watch the cells, but dinner was soon, and she figured a fresh start bright and early was better.

"Arthur will expect you to try and sneak in," he pointed out.

"I'm sure," she said. "That's why I'll need you and Jando to help watch it and plan something."

"He might expect us, too."

"Not as much as he would me."

"How do we watch it then?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure yet. Jando could hide us, but he would still be visible. I don't know."

"We can pretend to show an interest in interrogation techniques and learn more about the security," he suggested.

"That'd work. And I can watch the outside when I visit Cooper, see who goes in and out, and when, since it's close to his pool. I've been visiting him anyway, so no one will be the wiser. Maybe he can keep watch, too."

"Sounds good. Although we might be too busy to sneak in right away," he said as they reached the dormitories.

"Why's that?"

He fanned one of his letters to her. "Dariela and your mom are coming up here next week."

"What?" Lydia asked. She looked closer at his letter. It was postmarked from her friend. At the bottom, Dariela had signed it with a "Love ya." Her arm twitched. "Why are they coming early?"

"Dariela's going on a trip with her parents this summer. Wants to come visit before she leaves," he said. "As for your mom, I don't know. Figured she may as well come at the same time?"

Lydia ripped open her letters. The one from Dariela confirmed what Aidan told her. A trip to Europe for the whole month. Sounds nice. Her mother's letter explained that she soon be swamped with plenty of work, and this was the best opportunity to squeeze in a visit.

"I'll let Jando know about our ideas when he gets in," Aidan said, bounding up the stairs.

Lydia nodded and climbed to her room, numb frustration building up. Wren bounced off her bed and into Lydia's face. "So, how did it go? Did you ace it?" Lydia pushed past her and fell onto her bed, tossing the letters on her pillow. "That hard, huh? I know! How about I run down and get some movies and we'll have a movie night after dinner. Sound good?"

Lydia mumbled incoherently. Why did Aidan and Dariela's relationship affect her so much? Because it seems so wrong. But why should that matter? Maybe she needed to talk to Dariela about it.

Wren sat next to her and shook her shoulders. "Hey, what's up? Did something happen?"

"It's nothing," Lydia said, turning her head. Her tulip had finally decided to sprout and bloom. A small pleasure, but it helped and made her a little happy. If she looked close, a tinge of red peeked out from the slowly opening petals.

"C'mon. You can tell me."

She sighed. "My mom and Dariela are coming next week."

"And that's," Wren asked, examining her roommate's face, "bad?"

"No, it's not that. It's...," Lydia rubbed her cheek. How did she explain this when she couldn't explain it to herself? "It's Dariela and Aidan."

"What about them?"

"They've been getting really close," she said. "Writing letters to each other, saying 'I love you,' and it's just, I don't know, weird."

Wren nodded. "Yeah, I see what you mean." Lydia cocked an eyebrow. Did she? "I mean, Aidan actually being romantic. Who knew?" She nudged Lydia's side and grinned.

"No, it's more than that. It just feels off."

"Well, what do you expect? If they like each other, that's what couples do," Wren said.

"I know. But not them. I didn't expect it to go this far. They shouldn't be doing this." She gripped her pillow and pulled at it, ripping the seams.

"You're saying they should be with someone else?" Wren asked.

"Yes." Then she paused. "I think. I don't know. All I know is that he's not Dariela's type. She should be with someone else. There's plenty of guys at her school she could date."

"And Aidan? Who should he be with?"

"Me." Lydia and the room froze. A calm before the storm of epiphanies and dumbfounded shock slammed into her mind with unyielding force. Her? The first answer out of her mouth without thinking and she named herself? That was the reason for all these mixed emotions since those two began dating?

She wanted Aidan.

Oh, crap!

The more the thought processed, the more it made sense but was no less unbelievable. How? When? When did this happen? Millions of similar questions raced around and none helped clarify things. At some point in time, she had started to care for Aidan more than she thought, and now she was caught in a pit of jealousy. Jealous. Over Aidan. Aidan. She shook her head.

"What was that?"

Time resumed and Lydia looked up. Oh, crap. She had forgotten about Wren. The girl had the biggest, toothiest smile that anyone could manage, and her eyes were alight, as if fireworks exploded behind them.

"Nah," Lydia hastily added. "He should be with Mina."

Wren tilted her head, her expression unchanging. "And who's this Mina?"

"Just some girl from my old school," she said. "Sort of like him, you know."

"No, I don't know," Wren said, inching closer. "Tell me about," she stuck her face in hers, "Mina."

"She's just an example," Lydia said. "You asked for one. There you go."

"Funny how you didn't name any names for Dariela," she said smugly. She hummed and turned her head upside down. "Very funny. Hmm? Hmmm? This Mina, that wouldn't happen to be a middle name, would it? Is she a brunette, about yay tall, green eyes, and are her initials L.P.?"

Lydia rolled off the bed and muttered, "I'm going for a walk." She shut the door behind her and headed to the first floor of the building. She stopped at the exit doors and spun around. Where should she go? She didn't really know what to do with this revelation. The worst part was that her feelings now had a name, and they were directed at two good close friends. It seethed and festered in her chest when she thought about them together. She didn't want to be bitter at them. At the same time, she couldn't change what she realized about Aidan. She was lightheaded. This was just what she needed, right as she was planning to break into the holding cells to grill Heather. And it wasn't like she could push it away like a distraction. She had tried that already, and this situation kept cropping up, more intense each time.

Why, of all times, did this have to manifest when she was dealing with something big? Why did Dariela and Aidan start dating? Why not a few months down the road when things were less hectic?

She mushed her face in her palms and puffed out a sigh, sitting down on the stairway. Why did they get together in the first place? They're not each other's type! Although how could she be so sure with this bias? I know he's not Dariela's type. That's for sure. She had known her for years, and people don't change their taste that much.

The thought clicked in her mind. Aidan definitely wasn't the kind of guy Dariela usually dated. And their relationship had moved too fast. Way too fast for Aidan. He wasn't the kind to jump into a relationship like theirs and already be at this stage, was he? The whole thing smelled rotten to Lydia.

Aidan says it's not a rebound, Lydia thought. Then what? The memory of Dariela and her in the game room flashed past her eyes. Dariela had been asking if there was something between her and Aidan. Could...Could Dariela have seen it before I did? And she did this to draw out jealousy? To make me realize it? The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Lydia bet Aidan's letters were actually reports to Dariela, telling her how well their little scheme of manipulating Lydia was working.

And I'll bet it was all Dariela's idea. It sounds like her. She probably planned that kiss in the game room and knew Lydia was there all along. All this frustration because of Dariela. Oh, you clever little sneak. I'm onto you. She could confront Aidan, but he would likely deny it. Dariela would as well.

I need proof. But where could she get proof? She smiled. The letters. Surely those told everything.

She raced upstairs to Aidan's room and knocked on the door. He answered, surprised to see her. "What's up?"

Her mind blanked. She needed some excuse to enter. She couldn't just ask to see his letters. "Uh, I was wondering if," she ran through a list of things to ask for, "if you have any toilet paper. Wren needs some."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." He opened the door wider. "Come on in. Give me a minute."

"Okay," she said. While he was in the bathroom connecting his room to that of his neighbors, she scanned his dorm. Like her dorm, there were posters on either wall, denoting bands and movies they liked, and scattered textbooks on each side from studying. The furniture was a replica of hers, like every dorm room. Two beds, two dressers, nightstand for each bed, the latter of which she checked first. She pulled open drawers, but found nothing except stationary, envelopes, and a Bible. All the standard items provided by the BEP Division.

She straightened as Aidan returned, twirling a roll of toilet paper on his finger. "Here you go," he said, handing it to her.

"Thanks," she said. She bit her lip and eyed his dresser. Maybe his letters were buried under some clothes?

"Was there something else?"

"Yes," she said. "Do you have any conditioner? We're running a bit low."

"Uh, I'll check," he said. Alone again, Lydia dashed to the dresser and pulled out drawers, pushing clothes aside. There had to be some letters there. There had to. But there was nothing. No sign of them.

"Is rejuvenating hair conditioner alright?" Aidan asked from the bathroom.

She turned around. She had almost forgot about him in her haste. "Do you have any for frizzy hair?"

"I think." There was a thump as he searched. She pounded her head, trying to think of where the letters would be. Under his bed and the dresser? Nothing under there. She yanked her hair in frustration and gave up. Wherever he'd hidden the letters, she would need more time to search.

Dariela will be coming next week, she reminded herself. I'll weasel the truth out of her then.

She climbed to her feet as Jando entered. He passed Lydia, tugging off his shirt and throwing it on the bed, his defined back exposed to her. Aidan came out of the bathroom, carrying the conditioner and halted when he saw the two of them.

"What?" Jando asked. He followed Aidan's gaze to Lydia. "Oh." He grinned. "You know, there are easier ways to get a free show than sneaking into our room."

She opened her mouth for a sarcastic reply but was struck by brilliance. "Then how about you swing by sometime and give me one?" she said, a coy smile dancing on her lips.

Jando's and Aidan's mouths hung agape. Jando was the first to recover. "Uh, yeah. I'd love to." He put on a fresh shirt. "Better hurry up, Seagull. Dinner's ready."

Lydia took the bottle of conditioner from Aidan's stiff grip. "Thanks," she said. Then she left, smug and satisfied. Two could play this game.
Chapter 11- The Name Everyone Wants to Know

It took Mark, Oliver, and Lionel a little more than a week to reach Las Vegas. The heat was unbearable and incredibly dry. All of the water in Mark's body seemed to shrivel up and disappear when he stepped outside. He loathed it. "Florida's worse," Oliver told him. "There it's hot and humid. Like being smacked in the face with a damp towel."

Once in Las Vegas, Lionel insisted on a small, out-of-the-way hotel. Oliver grumbled, preferring to stay in the Luxor, but he compromised on the basis that he get to play in the casinos. Lionel agreed, with some encouragement from Mark. "We've been cooped up the whole trip. It'd be nice to go out," Mark said.

Throughout their travels, Mark had yet to find an opportunity to call the police. Someone was always with him at the hotel rooms or in public places. He almost succeeded one time when Oliver and Lionel left a hotel room to argue about something, but Lionel returned before he could be connected to the emergency operator. Therefore, his last option was at a casino. He prayed that whichever one they visited was very busy during the day.

Unfortunately, Lionel chose a casino on the outskirts of Las Vegas. "Hold 'Em Harry's Casino and Restaurant?" Oliver asked after Mark told him the name when they arrived. He climbed out of their latest dingy, stolen van and slammed the door. "Are you kidding me? Why not play at the Luxor? Excalibur? I'll even take Circus Circus! With this old thing," he kicked the van's wheels, "and the hotel, it's like you're trying to make this some cheap, terrible knockoff of a real Vegas trip."

"Because we need to lie low," Lionel said. "And that means staying away from large crowds who could finger us."

"You suck the fun out of everything," Oliver said. He held onto Mark. "How can you be so cruel? Denying me fun in Vegas. Have you no heart, or did that go up in smoke, too?"

"Shut up and go gamble, Bright Eyes," Lionel said.

"Oh, you pun-ish me with your pun¬-ny witticisms that are not at all stale." Mark led the group into the casino.

The casino was housed in a community center-sized room, and rows of slot machines and card tables were squashed inside. The swirl-patterned carpet was bright orange and gaudy, outdone by the tacky purple-pink walls. In the center was a large mural of a villa under a sunset's rays, which formed the casino's name. The dull gamblers shuffled around, dragging their feet from tables to slot machines and back. Every few minutes a slot machine lit up, rang, and spat out a handful of tokens.

"Glad I can't see it. This place even sounds disappointing," Oliver said, dropping his gaze. "Where's the atmosphere? The Vegas spirit?"

"Sucked into the slot machines with everyone's money," Lionel said.

Oliver snorted. "Hmph. Last time I let you book my vacation."

Lionel rolled his eyes and turned to Mark. "We'll be back soon. Stay in here."

On a raised area against a wall was a small, seaside-decorated restaurant and bar with a few arcade machines. Mark pointed it out to the two, and Oliver handed him a few twenties. "Bet you'll have more fun than we will."

"Pick a table already," Lionel said.

"Man, you need to relax. You're always wound tighter than new strings on a guitar." They chose a nearby poker table, where Oliver introduced Lionel as his eyes. "Don't let him fool you," he said to the other players. "He looks like a stiff, but it's only him putting on airs."

Mark ordered a soda from the restaurant and found a line of payphones near the arcade machines. He looked over at Lionel and Oliver. It suddenly occurred to him that if the police showed up at the casino, Lionel would suspect Mark.

He sipped his drink and looked around the restaurant, his eyes landing on a television above the bar. "Breaking developments in Richmond, Virginia, as the terrorist group Children of the New Age have released a wounded hostage. The hostage was injured in their attack this morning on city hall."

Mark blocked out the news. Hearing more would remind him of Whyte, and he was already losing his nerve. There had to be some way to bring the cops without alerting Lionel. If not, he just had to call and hope for the best. But his legs trembled when he thought of his plan failing. Heather had told him Whyte was connected, even to the police. He had forgotten that. The man might be able to find the record of the call and then would come after Mark.

He headed to the payphone and inserted a few quarters. After dialing, he waited through several rings, begging that he didn't reach an answering machine. "Hello?" a woman said.

Mark took a few moments and croaked out, "Mom?"

"Mark? Mark, is that you?" She sounded frantic. Hearing her voice, he wanted to run home then and there and forget Whyte, Overwatch, and the BEP Division. "Mark? Please tell me it's you."

"It's me."

"Oh, thank God," she said. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, Mom," he said. "I'm fine."

"What happened? They said you were involved with that terrorist group that attacked Golden Springs."

"It's a long story," he said. The news switched to an update report about the continued manhunt for them. Mark's picture was on prominent display to the whole restaurant.

"Where are you? Tell me and I'll come get you." Her voice was racked with sobs, and Mark blinked rapidly, choking back his own tears.

"No, I can't tell you. I can't get you involved." Maybe he already had by calling? He smacked his forehead with the receiver.

"I don't care. I'm your mother and I want to protect you."

As the news exchanged his picture for Oliver's and Lionel's sketches, Mark had an idea. "Look, this may be the last time I get to talk to you. I want you to know that whatever they said about me, know that I didn't want to do it. I didn't know what else to do and I'm scared."

"Honey, you don't have to be scared. You don't have to do what you're doing anymore. Whatever it is, let me help you."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I have to do this myself. I love you. Bye." She tried to protest, but he hung up. Then he took his drink and sat at a table underneath the television and in front of several other patrons.

"If you have any information, please call the number below," the news anchor said above. "A reward of up to $75,000 is now being offered for information leading to any of their captures."

Mark waited, looking straight on into the crowd. He tried to act casual, aloof, uninterested in anyone else. No, wait. A fugitive would be nervous and trying to hide. He changed tactics, raising his glass to block part of his face and kept his head slightly down. Or should I be nervous and trying to act calm?

He glanced up and locked eyes with a man and his two friends, all drinking beer. They peered at Mark, whispered and pointed at him, before one stood up and went for the phone. The other two kept a watch on Mark. Yes.

Soon, the men called over the bartender and pointed in Mark's direction. Real subtle, guys. He pretended to look elsewhere, but his insides jumped for joy. The bartender whispered to a security guard for a few moments. This was working. He would be arrested, taken away from all this, and Whyte wouldn't be the wiser.

Mark switched to a seat at the bar and asked for a refill. The bartender smiled warmly and obliged him. "Here you go. Enjoying your time here?" The two men from the table took a seat on either side of Mark. The security guard stood at the restaurant's entrance.

"I am now," he said. He looked over his shoulder at Lionel and Oliver. They were still playing, unaware of what was happening.

"Here with anyone?" the bartender asked, following his gaze. He caught sight of Oliver and Lionel and nodded to the security guard. The guard grabbed a walkie-talkie and started walking toward the poker table.

"Just a couple of friends," Mark said. Two more security guards entered the casino and slowly circled Oliver and Lionel. "If you'll excuse me, I should be going." As he rose and left, the two men followed him.

Mark approached the poker table, and the security guards were almost on all three of them. He looked over Oliver's shoulder. He was holding three of a kind. "I'll raise," Oliver said, throwing in several chips. The other players folded, and he scooped up the winnings. "C'mon. Don't you people have any sense of adventure? Live a little. We'll lose it all sooner or later."

"Sir," one of the security guards said. "Would you come with us, please?"

Lionel was already crouched, prepared to attack. "Who's that?" Oliver asked, turning around.

"Security. We need you to come with us."

Oliver climbed off his seat, wobbling and holding onto the table. He reached out for Mark and took his hand. The guards exchanged unsure glances but kept a hand on their batons. "Well, it looks like things are finally beginning to heat up," Oliver said, earning a sigh from Lionel. "Hey, I'm going to have some fun while we're here." He tipped his glasses down, setting fire to the carpet, and flipped over the card table.

Lionel jumped into one of the guards, gagging him. Mark dove out of the way of the fire. The men from the bar scrambled back to the restaurant. The remaining guards pulled out their batons and swatted at Mark. Oliver grabbed one and threw him into a slot machine, breaking it and causing the machine to vomit all of its coins. "Jackpot!"

The other guard abandoned Mark and turned to Oliver, but Lionel entered the man's eyes and nose. The guard clawed at his own face, his eyes fading to pitch black until he fell down. Oliver picked up Mark. "You okay?" More security guards rushed in, shouting at them. "Time to torch this house of cards!" Oliver shot an arc of fire at the roof, burning through part of it. Chunks of the roof crumbled and fell, scattering the guards.

"Let's go!" Lionel said. Oliver whisked Mark out of the casino, blazing a trail behind them. In the parking lot, they found a few police cars waiting for them. The officers drew their pistols and took shelter behind their cars.

"Get down on the ground and put your hands in the air!" one ordered.

"Now this is what I call a high-stakes game," Oliver said, raising his hands.

"Enough already!" Lionel said. "Find a car. I'll deal with them." He jumped forward, taking down an officer. Oliver blasted a police car and ran with Mark in between the parking rows.

"Hmm, let's see," Oliver said, rubbing his head. "We want something nice and roomy. Preferably a little showy." The gunshots struck a truck behind them. "But nothing too expensive." One bullet lodged itself in the side of Mark's nose, pushing hard on it. He brushed the bullet away and crinkled his nose.

Oliver opened his eyes and selected an older, cherry-red Cadillac. "Oh, yeah," he said, hopping into the passenger seat. "This is perfect." He talked Mark through hotwiring the car, and Lionel joined them, bringing gunfire with him. A few bullets struck the side, popping through the metal. Mark tore out of the parking lot and onto the open road.

When they were far enough away, Oliver smiled, "Now that was a good Vegas trip."

"We'll have to dump the car and find another one," Lionel said, looking behind them.

"Aw, c'mon! Let's keep it for a little while."

"We can't drive a shot-up car. And really? Could you've picked a car that stands out more? Why not hang a sign off our backs that we're wanted. We need to lie low, remember?"

"So much for that happening," Oliver said, rolling down his window. "It's moot now that they know we're here."

"I wonder how that happened." Mark caught Lionel's evil eye in the rearview mirror.

"Probably someone calling in for the reward," Oliver said. "It is a hefty sum. And you're welcome," he said, punching Mark's arm.

"Huh? Oh, thanks."

"You can't stand there all dopey-like. When the fighting starts, you need to move."

Mark gripped the wheel tighter and nodded. "Yeah, sorry."

"Next time, we might just leave you behind," Lionel said.

I wish. A couple of ambulances sped by them in the opposite direction.

"Nah, he's teasing. We wouldn't do that to you." Oliver ruffled Mark's hair, and then turned on the radio. Mark sighed. There went his one shot at freedom.

* * *

Cooper was more than willing to help Lydia keep an eye on the closet door to the holding cells. Each day while they watched, she asked for more information about Nina, but he had none to give her. At the moment, they were at an impasse as far as helping her. "Although," he said, "she was surprised that you went to Harper. I don't think she expected that."

Aidan and Jando easily tracked the guards coming and going from the guard's post, noting when the shift changes were and how the security camera controls worked. They informed Lydia about all they learned when they regrouped with her at the end of every day. The beginnings of a plan started to form for her. "There's a ten-minute window during the shift changes when the next guard sets up," Aidan said. "And Lenny looks to be the weak link."

"The shrimpy guy, right?" Jando asked. "He eats dinner before his shift. I could get some laxatives and sneak some into his food, but what about the door? We have the access code, but Lenny won't leave the keys behind. Or do you plan to speak to Heather from outside?"

"No," Lydia said. "We'll have to find some other way." Breaking the door down was out, and none of them could pick the lock. Thankfully, help came in the form of Wren, who overheard their conversation one evening and offered to assist them.

"I could use my ice to make a key," she said, swinging into her room and pointing to the door. She touched the keyhole, and ice crawled out of her finger and into the lock. In her palm, the ice hardened into a ring end. When she finished, she turned the ice key back and forth, locking and unlocking the door.

"What about the ice?" Aidan said. "We can't leave it behind."

"We'll bring a lighter and melt it when we're done," Lydia said. She looked at Wren. "You're sure about this? You could get in trouble."

"Not if we don't get caught," she said, grinning. She took Lydia aside after the guys left. "So...," she said, drawing out the word.

"So?"

"Don't 'so' me," Wren said, putting her hands on her hips. "Aidan. Have you done anything? You two would be so cute together." She shoved her knuckles into her lips and seemed to be on the verge of squealing.

"He's dating Dariela. That's all there is to it," Lydia said.

Wren rolled her eyes. "'All there is to it.' Yeah, uh-huh, sure." She didn't let up, casting knowing looks when Aidan was around them and asking if Lydia had acted on her "deep desires" each day. Lydia kept ignoring her questions, much to Wren's chagrin. She had to focus.

Breaking into the holding cells had to wait for a while. In the middle of the week, Debra and Dariela arrived. Lydia greeted them and Dariela planted a kiss on Aidan's cheek. Lydia refrained from letting it bother her. She was onto their game. She just needed to pull the truth from Dariela.

Unfortunately, at every opportunity, Dariela acted natural. "So, you and Aidan, huh? Gotta admit, seemed a little odd," Lydia would say.

"Yeah, but maybe that's what makes it work. We're very different," Dariela would reply.

Or, "Why Aidan? Out of all the guys here, I wouldn't think he'd be your first choice."

Dariela would ponder the question, or pretend to. "I don't know. There's just something about him that draws you in."

There had to be a chink in her armor somewhere. Some hole to bring down this charade. Lydia tried to flirt with Jando in front of them, a wink here or a suggestive remark there. "Want to get some one-on-one training after dinner, Jando? I could show you some moves." That caused Aidan to look ill, or so she thought. Dariela didn't react at all.

At lunch one day, Lydia asked Dariela, "Got anything planned for today?"

"Probably hang out with Aidan," she said, looking down the table at him. He waved at her.

"What kinds of things do you guys do? Besides fly around the Cave?" Lydia asked.

"Why all the questions about Aidan?" Dariela said, smirking. "Interested in him?"

"No, no," Lydia said, finishing her food. "Just curious. You two always disappear when you're together." She finished the rest of her soda.

"Well," she said, tilting her head and looking off to the side, "we do need our alone time."

Lydia crushed her soda can until it was as thin as a straw in her grip and rose from the table. "Have fun then. I'll see you later." She dumped her food and stomped out of the lunchroom. She couldn't take it. At times, Lydia wondered at if she were wrong. However, when she tried eavesdropping on the couple on the few occasions she found them alone, they talked in hushed whispers and always clammed up or moved away when Aidan noticed her. That only heightened her suspicions.

As Lydia walked through the hall, wondering what to do next, someone grabbed her and pulled her into an empty training room. Lydia raised her fists and was surprised to find Nina glaring at her. The girl's deep-sea-diver helmet tipped, splashing the water within onto the floor. She angled her body so the open top pointed at Lydia.

Lydia caught on and stood on her tiptoes, facing Nina's raised head through the helmet's open top. The girl struggled to adjust the water until her face poked out of it. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"Excuse me?"

"Going to Harper and trying to find out why I'm being kept here?" Nina jabbed her finger in Lydia's chest. "I told you it was none of your business. Why do you insist on sticking your nose in? What's in it for you?"

"I only want to help you two," Lydia said. "Honest."

"Why?"

Lydia took a breath. "Because I know what it's like to have your family taken from you. To feel like you're suddenly ripped apart from them." Nina blinked and backed off. "I know you and Cooper are real close and I don't want that to happen to you two. I'd appreciate it if you told me everything."

Nina straightened her helmet, losing more water, and left without another word. Lydia groaned and headed to her room. She wished it was next week. She could handle sneaking into the holding cells much better than she could all these other problems.

* * *

During the rest of Debra and Dariela's stay, Lydia enjoyed her time with her mother. She saw little of Dariela from that point on, until the last day when she went to the game room. Aidan and Dariela were hanging out in there, playing pool with Jando and Donny. Aidan was beating them easily, even showing off as he knocked two balls into opposite pockets. Donny shook his head, sniffing and twirling his metal cast, jostling the water around inside the outer shell. The inside was perfectly molded to slip onto his nose, matching every bump and ridge. He suddenly sneezed, blocking his nose in time with the metal cast, and a jet stream of bubbles shot to the top of the water like it was boiling. Even though he stopped the lasers, everyone jumped out of the way regardless. "How do you keep scoring?" Donny asked, taking a deep breath from the water, cooling off his nostrils.

Aidan grinned and rubbed the tip of his cue with more chalk. "Pool is all about approaching things from the right angle."

"Is that how you also won her over?" Jando asked, nodding at Dariela. "Approaching from the right angle?"

"Please," Dariela said, pecking Aidan's lips. "I practically had to ask him out."

Jando snickered. "That sounds like Seagull."

Lydia chewed her lip and approached them. Time to accelerate the arms race. The group greeted her and she turned to Jando. "Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure. Let us finish this game first, real quick," he said. He set up a shot to knock one of his balls in and missed.

Dariela and Debra would be leaving in a few hours. She didn't have time for this. Lydia picked up one end of the pool table, tipping all the remaining balls into the far pockets. She dropped it and pretended not to notice the stares. "That's game."

"Guess so." Jando handed his cue to Donny and followed Lydia out of the game room and down the hall. "What's up?"

"I wanted to ask you something." Lydia closed her eyes for a moment and forced herself to sound sincere, then put on a cute grin. "Are you still going to come by some night? We could watch a movie or something."

Jando's eyes popped out of his head. Then a cool smile crept up his face. "Sure. How about this weekend?" Lydia nodded and he returned to the game room, head held high like a king and a smug expression painted on as he looked down at the others. Lydia kept a close eye on the game room from the window and reveled in Dariela and Aidan's taking the news. Dariela didn't know what to say, and Aidan collapsed in a chair. Delighted, Lydia hummed a tune and disappeared before they noticed she was there.

* * *

After the weeklong visit ended, Lydia, Jando, and Aidan returned to sneaking into the holding cells. "Okay, the shift change is at 5:00 pm," Aidan said. "Lenny comes in then."

"Jando, go in with Lenny," Lydia said. "Once he runs off, open the wall for us and we're in."

They settled on the day after Debra and Dariela left. Jando and Aidan met Lydia and Wren at the swimming pool on the second floor. Aidan had borrowed a lighter from one of the labs and passed it to Wren. "Good luck," Cooper said as Jando ran out. A minute after the change, Lenny stumbled into the restroom across the hall, clutching his stomach. Then Jando opened the closet and wall for them. They dashed to the guard's post and, while Aidan punched in the code for the door, Jando grabbed Heather's filter and handcuffs from the guard's desk and handed them to Lydia.

The group made their way down to Heather's cell. She looked up and Lydia passed her the filter and handcuffs. Heather put them on and sat on her bed. Wren touched the keyhole, formed a key, and unlocked the door. "Lock it behind me," Lydia said. "Aidan, watch the guard post. Jando, the hall outside. Wren, this door." They went to their assigned positions and she entered. The door clicked shut behind her.

"I would say I'm surprised to see you," Heather said. "But you have a habit of showing up where you're not supposed to be." She eyed the door. "I take it Arthur doesn't know about your little visit?"

Lydia was taken aback, as up close Heather's features were worse, and her body was thinner. Her shoulders sagged, and her complexion was unhealthy and sallow. Her chestnut roots gave way to shocking albino. "Just tell me who your boss is," she said, regaining herself. "That's all I want to know."

"And give up my only card?" Heather shook her head. "Not on your life."

"Why not? You've already told us it wasn't Rooke."

"That's because anyone with two brain cells to rub together could tell you that," she said. "Rooke may have been a medical genius, but he was always a mental case. Leonard's death simply jiggled the final screw loose."

Lydia pulled up a chair and sat across from Heather. "Tell me and we'll—"

"What? Catch them? Put them in jail?" Heather sneered. "You can't. Not this person. They'll fight whatever accusations you throw at them. Or," her eyes narrowed, "were you planning something more severe?"

"No," Lydia shook her head. "We don't kill if we don't have to."

"Don't feed me that BEP crap," Heather said. "You have a reason to kill this person after all."

"I'm not killing anyone else."

"Anyone else? You mean Finster?" Heather laughed as if she had heard a ridiculous joke. "Oh, don't tell me you feel guilty about that. You were partly responsible at most."

"No, I killed him. I could've walked away."

"It was one big accident. You didn't break his neck or shoot him or anything. If you really killed him, the weight would still be crushing you." Heather leaned in. "Besides, aren't you glad he's gone? He did a lot of bad things." She stared directly into Lydia's eyes.

"We're getting off track."

"You are glad, aren't you?" Heather said, pushing further. Lydia tried to remain calm and in control. But her hands curled and her shoulder shook. "Glad he's dead. And you would try to kill him again, wouldn't you?"

"No, I wouldn't. Tell me who your boss is."

"Yes, you would," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. Is that the BEP Division's way?"

"Shut up and tell me."

"They don't kill if they don't have to, but you would."

"The name!"

"That anger, that hate there." Heather smiled. "Good. You'll need that to kill my boss. That's the only way to stop them. 'Don't kill unless necessary'? This is necessary. It's the only option you've got. After all, my boss ordered us to kidnap your parents. They are responsible for your father's death. That's as good a reason as any. Your conscience will be as clear as the only choice."

Lydia slammed her fist into the bed, breaking it in half and just missing Heather. The woman slid to the middle and tumbled onto the floor. Lydia retracted and berated herself. She was being manipulated. She had to stay in control and fight the overwhelming desire to knock Heather out. Or worse. She couldn't give in. "Don't even breathe a word about my dad," she said coldly. "He was a saint compared to you. I just want to know who your boss is. Then we can capture him or her."

"Oh, do I detect a touch of that drive to do me in, too?" Lydia scowled. "Upset you missed your chance at Golden Springs?" Heather scooted to the bed and sat up. "Bet you'd like to kill me right now. You're just fired up to tear someone apart, aren't you? Well, you can't touch me." Lydia's hands trembled and her knuckles cracked. How she wished they were out in the middle of nowhere, alone, no one for miles. "There is, however, one person you can let loose on to your heart's content, pummel to a bloody pulp."

The door flung open and Arthur and Morella stormed in. They grabbed Lydia and dragged her out of the room as she kicked and fought them. Morella tasered her, and her muscles locked up while a strange sensation rushed through the nerves in her body. Heather waved farewell as they carried Lydia out. "Don't be a stranger now," she said.
Chapter 12- Roland Whyte

"What on earth do you think you were doing?" Arthur grabbed his chair and shoved it into his desk. Wren jumped in her seat while the other three kept their heads bowed. "Lydia." She looked up. "I know this was your idea. What did I tell you?" He cut her off before she answered. "I told you to leave it to Sylvia!" He scrunched his eyes shut and exhaled through his nose. "All of you are confined to your rooms until further notice. You'll only go to training. Dismissed."

They turned to leave, but Arthur called Lydia back to her seat. He gripped his chair tight, his knuckles about to burst through the skin. "This has to stop. I've been lenient so far, but I won't tolerate disobedience. Clear?" She nodded. "Good. You can go."

When she reached her room, a security guard was carrying her television away. Wren clung to his leg, wailing and moaning. "No! Please, tonight's the season finale of 'Fairy Tales in Suburbia'! I need to know if Alice chooses the Mad Hatter or the March Hare and who the Big Bad Wolf killed!" He dragged her along her belly, one step at a time, trying to shake her off every few feet.

Lydia shut herself off from everyone the rest of the day and punched a couple holes in her wall. Not even a name. She was furious at Heather and at herself. A few more minutes and she was sure she could've broken Heather. That's all she needed. That was what she planned on.

Later that night, however, when she recalled how poorly the interrogation had gone, she yelled into her pillow. How could things have gone so wrong? She should've been on top of it, but her emotions got the better of her.

At lunch the next day, Jando and Aidan convened with Lydia and Wren, grilling her for information. "Did she say anything? Give you any clue?" Aidan asked.

"Nope," Lydia said. "Nothing."

"Great," Aidan said. "A waste of time."

"What happened? I thought you were watching the hall, Jando."

"I was," he said. "But Lenny feared he caught something. He called in sick while in the restroom. Another guard came, found us, and then told Arthur." He stabbed at his food. "Didn't even put that many laxatives in. Guess he has a really weak stomach."

"Guess so," Lydia said.

"Sorry that our movie night's canceled," Jando said. "I was looking forward to it."

"Me, too. We'll just do it another time." She caught the odd stares from Wren and Aidan and turned to her food.

Wren cornered Lydia in their room later that night. "I've been hearing some things," she said. "Some things that happened in the game room between you and Jando."

"And?"

"And normally I would be happy that my friends are dating," she said. "But I know he's not who you like."

Lydia cracked open a book and pretended to read. "I'm pretty sure Aidan and Dariela don't like each other either, but I won't say anything."

Wren tilted her head. "What? Then why are they dating?" Lydia gave her a knowing glance and watched the cogs turn in Wren's mind. Eventually, her mouth formed an o. "So they-? And you-? I see. So you're fighting fire with fire? Getting back at them?"

"Why not?" Lydia said.

"What about Jando?" she said. "He doesn't know. He thinks it's real."

Lydia hadn't considered that, and her conscience made her feel guilty, now that Wren mentioned it. "He'll be fine," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "You know Jando. He's a 'flavor of the week' kind of guy. He won't take it seriously."

"He's serious when it comes to this."

"Yeah, right," Lydia said. "For all of the thirty minutes he's dating anyone. We haven't even had our movie night or done anything official. I'm sure he's had ten other girls ask him for a date this week alone. He's probably out on a date with one of them already."

"He takes his girlfriends pretty seriously. Stops even looking at any other girls." Wren crossed her arms and grew somber. "I don't like it."

Lydia touched her shoulder. "He'll probably find some girl he wants more and dump me soon enough."

"Then what will you do?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." She turned the page. "Jando will be fine." She repeated that to herself and hoped it was true. Lydia didn't want to hurt him. That won't happen. I'm another fling to him. Then again, he had been flirting with her for an awfully long time, compared to his other pursuits. She pushed the issue aside. Worrying about unlikely occurrences wouldn't help.

* * *

The rest of the week, Lydia caught snatches of the progress made with Heather. Sylvia left every training session promptly at the end of each for the interrogation session. And the deadline to hand Heather over to the FBI was fast approaching. Judging from Sylvia's ever-increasing temper and frustration during the training sessions, things weren't progressing. Most days she wore a sharp scowl and conducted the training more stringently.

"Again, your opponent still has her weapon when she comes around the corner. You're dead, Mr. Keyes!" Sylvia shouted when Aidan failed to disarm Lydia. She snatched the staff from Lydia's hands and thrust it into Aidan's. "Now, come around the corner." He walked around the tall block in the agent training area, about-faced, and crept back to Sylvia. She grabbed his arms, flipped him high over her head, and slammed him on the ground, adding in a final strike that stopped short of his stomach. He flattened his body, wide-eyed and paralyzed in fear. "Now, we're going to do this until you get it right!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Aidan said, holding his stomach. Jando helped him to his feet.

"Just be glad she didn't aim lower," he said.

When it came to stealthy endeavors, Sylvia was strict with Lydia, who would practice keeping track of Sylvia's movements throughout the Center all day and then report back to her. "I can see you following me from a mile away!" Sylvia often said, no matter if Lydia pretended to pass by like a normal pedestrian, watch her from a chair over a book, or was in deep conversation with others when Sylvia was around. "If I'm onto you, others will be onto you," she'd tell Lydia. "You need to focus. Remember your training."

Finally, days before the estimated hand-off, Sylvia took Lydia with her to the holding cells after a training session. She said nothing until they arrived at the guard's station, where Arthur, Gary, and Morella waited for her. Lydia looked around. "What's going on?"

The others faced Arthur, who rubbed his chin. "We're in a predicament here."

"What do you mean?"

"Heather is willing to talk," Sylvia said. "Presumably about her boss. And the sooner we take them and all their associates down, the better."

"That's good," Lydia said. "Why am I here then? Going to let me watch?"

"No," Arthur said. "You're going to talk to her."

* * *

Lionel found a hotel to lie low, and Oliver called Whyte, who ranted and raved for an hour. "Do you have any idea how much time and money went in to hushing up that story in Washington? And what do you three do? Burn down a casino!"

"We didn't really burn it down," Oliver said. "Just burned it."

"Say one more word and I'll wring your neck!" Thankfully, during the tirade, Whyte confirmed that Mark hadn't been the one to call the police. "Someone in the bar spotted him and phoned it in. Although I'm sure you two stood out even more," Whyte said. Mark was relieved. Lionel had been watching him suspiciously since the casino.

After that night, they slowly made their way to Vermont, ending up in Virginia after what seemed like months of dirty, dingy hotels. Oliver called Whyte when they arrived in Virginia and informed him they were close. "There's been a change of plans," Whyte said. "The swimmer can wait."

Lionel and Mark gathered around the nightstand the phone rested on. "What happened?" Lionel asked.

"Turns out our dear Heather is being transferred," Whyte said. "They're handing her over to the FBI this week."

"And you want us to go get her?" Oliver said.

Mark contained his excitement. Another chance. He had another chance lying at his feet, and he wouldn't let this one slip past him.

"No, not just you," Whyte said. "This is too important. So I'm sending help. You, Valerie, and Roy will meet up in Virginia. Sheila and Anton and their detachment should be wrapping up with the Children of the New Age."

"Awesome! The whole gang together on this one," Oliver said.

"I'll give you more details once my contact in the BEP Division lets me know when the transfer is. For now, join up with them and lay low. I mean it. I don't want to see you three on the news again, or so help me—"

"We've got it," Oliver said. "Need to go. I think my minutes are almost up." He grinned and shook his head at Mark. When the call ended, Oliver headed out for food with Lionel, leaving Mark alone. He didn't dare call the police though. After narrowly escaping blame, he couldn't risk that again. His best option was to somehow flee with Heather after they found her.

Yet the rest of the group would be there this time. Mark grabbed clumps of his hair and tugged. How could he leave with all of them watching him?

* * *

"Come again?" Lydia asked. "You specifically told us we can't come here and you punished us for doing so, and now you want me to go in there?"

"Heather requested you," Sylvia said. "She refuses to speak to anyone else."

"Why me?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe you make for stimulating conversation. Look, she's our only lead at the moment, and we need to find these people. They could be planning something else, and we don't want another Golden Springs on our hands. Or worse."

Lydia scratched her head, skeptical of their plan. "Last time didn't go so well," she said.

"We'll be right there for you," Arthur said. "Morella will be in the room and we'll be outside. You can do this."

She looked at the hall. She wanted another crack at Heather. I can get the name. I will get the name. Lydia agreed and they escorted her to the room.

As they opened the door, Sylvia patted her shoulder. "Don't let her rile you up," she whispered. She gave her an encouraging smile and Lydia returned it. Then Morella and she entered and he stayed by the door.

Like before, Lydia took a seat across from Heather. The bed that Lydia had broken had been replaced, and Heather was sitting on the edge of the mattress, already handcuffed with her filter. Her albino roots stood out, pushing away the retreating color. Lydia tapped her own thighs, unsure how to start. As she opened her mouth, Heather eyed the door and spoke low, so only Lydia heard her. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

"What?" Lydia asked.

"What other choice do we have?" She paused and turned to her. "She can do this."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, puzzled by what she meant. Heather jerked her head at the door, where Arthur and Sylvia whispered to one another. "Quite the vote of confidence," Heather said.

"What did you want?" Lydia scooted her chair forward. "Why ask to talk to me?"

"Because we never got to finish our conversation. It was kind of fun, your pretending to be an actual agent. Like watching a toddler try to imitate its parent."

Lydia flexed her knuckles and dug them into her legs. "I am in training."

"And that excuses you from smashing my bed? You know how uncomfortable it is to sleep on the floor?"

"I'm sorry," Lydia said. "A lapse on my part. But I'm in control now."

"When you think you're in control is when the floor falls out from under you." Heather snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

"Were you going to get around to telling me who your boss is, or are you going continue critiquing my interrogation skills?"

Heather clucked her tongue. "Oh, I could go on for hours about that. Unfortunately, I think a lot of the techniques I could teach you aren't approved by Arthur." She nodded to him.

Lydia brushed her hair out of her face. "Tell me already or this is over."

"No it's not," Heather said, matter-of-factly. "Because you want this person. You want them dead as much as you want me dead. Don't lie. I know you still hate me. But since I'm trapped in here, you want them more."

"I've come to terms with what happened at the bank." Her gaze went beyond Heather for a moment as she said, "It was an accident."

"Oh, sure," Heather said, unconvinced. "Come to terms with an accident that could've been prevented if we never took your parents. Please. You're worse than an alcoholic in rehab. At least they admit they have a problem and seek help. They try to overcome it. You're in a sheltered environment that lets you push it aside as long as you want, pretending you've beaten it. Yet as soon as you leave, all that hate, all that fury will come back and you'll want to kill again." Lydia felt like smacking her. Although doing so would prove Heather's point. She curled her hands into her waist, holding them there. "And like the alcoholic, you'll deal with that day in and day out, every time you find some scumbag that really deserves worse than they'll get. You ready to offer mercy to all of them? To face that constant temptation?"

"Yes," Lydia said.

"I said don't lie. You aren't. Sylvia is. She's been institutionalized and that's what makes her unsuited to this task. Makes them all unsuited, except you."

"You think that automatically means I am?" Lydia asked. "Why do you wholeheartedly trust me? If your boss as bad as you say, surely there's other people who could find him or her."

Heather nodded. "Yes, there are. But you're also driven. You wanted to find Finster and me bad and didn't stop until you did. I believe you want to find this man just as badly."

Lydia couldn't deny that. "Doesn't hurt that your options are also limited." She leaned in. "So it's a man."

"Stay quiet and I'll give you a name." Heather exhaled a load of gas, watching the harmless trail until it dissolved. "I'm taking a big risk telling you this. I expect two things."

"Which are?"

"Leniency for Mark and myself."

Lydia sat back. "Mark?"

"Yes. He was being forced to come after us. Believe me," she said. "He's not acting of his own free will."

Lydia looked at Arthur, who nodded. "Fine. If this pans out, we will. And the second thing?"

"For you to handle my boss and his people right. These aren't two-bit crooks that will reform. You need to kill them all, plain and simple."

"Not unless I have to."

"Why not?"

Lydia shook her head. "It's not right."

"Right?! Right?!" Heather leapt to her feet and Morella moved forward with a taser. But Heather stopped beside Lydia and glared at her. "Is it right that while your bunch refuses to kill, that just lets the criminals kill innocents? Aren't they the ones you should be protecting? Kill one, save many."

"Why do you care?"

Heather sighed. "Because he'll kill me, the same as you."

"Would you rather we have killed you without trying to bring you in?" Lydia asked. "Use that kind of force on you?"

"You were close to it," she whispered in Lydia's ear. "More than once, you almost gave in."

"But I didn't."

"I know," Heather said. "Why? It would've been easy. Quick snap of the neck. A dangerous fugitive who's been known to kill. No one would've questioned it if you had to kill me before I killed you." She sat back down and Morella put away his taser.

"I won't stoop to that level—your level—again," Lydia said. "Never again."

"My level?" Heather laughed and slapped her knees. "Look what my level got me. On the run, out of options. Oh, no. No, you have to go way past my level to get him."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Lydia said testily. Any more stalling and she would snap. "Tell me."

"One final thing first: you won't find any link between him and Rooke. He uses shell companies for business dealings. Places figureheads there while he controls things from the shadows."

"For the last time: who?"

Heather lay down on her bed, gazing at the clean white walls. "The name's all around you. I'm surrounded by it and reminded of him every day." She turned onto her side. "Roland Whyte."

At these words, Arthur and the others turned abruptly from the door, leaving Morella and Lydia behind. Morella opened the door and checked with them. "They won't find anything," Heather said, drawing Lydia's attention back to her. "Whyte is very thorough on covering his tracks."

"Thanks for your help," Lydia said, standing. "I'm sure the FBI will keep you safe."

"I'm a dead woman," Heather said. "We all are. Particularly the BEP Division." She looked at the ceiling, her breathing ragged. "He hates all of you. Absolutely hates. Arthur above all. And he won't rest until he's brought this place down on all your heads." Lydia's spine chilled as Heather continued, and her stomach tied itself in knots. "The real test is if you can stay true to your no killing policy after he slaughters everyone you know. Because he will come for you, just like he'll come for me. All of you." The tension in her voice made Lydia's skin crawl, and the hairs on the nape of her nack stood on end. "You have to kill him. You have to."

* * *

Like Heather predicted, Arthur and Sylvia came up empty-handed in their search. Roland Whyte was a private individual whose only known investments were in Overwatch. Overwatch's main office was in California, and after the FBI obtained a warrant, they cooperated and supplied information about the company and its locations. Other than that, Whyte was clean and in no clear way associated with Rooke. "According to the official documents anyway," Arthur said. "It's not like he'd record illegal activities."

Arthur wanted to at least question Whyte. However, his current whereabouts were unknown, and no one had seen him in a while. His housekeeper claimed that was normal. "He's rarely home. Always off at work somewhere." She let the local police search the place, but they found nothing suspicious.

All the findings didn't stop Heather's paranoia. She was convinced that Whyte had eyes and ears within the Cave. "He'll know that I told them," she said, rocking on her bed during one of Gary's sessions. "If by some miracle he doesn't get me here, he will out there." Arthur had a suspicion that she was right, and he assigned extra security to monitor her cell until the transfer. Even with around-the-clock surveillance, Heather refused to spill any other secrets. "I say any more and I definitely won't make it out of this cell."

Lydia believed Heather, too. She shared Arthur's worry and the Cave seemed a little more open, a little less safe after she'd interrogated Heather. She tried to reason that Heather spooked her, yet the unease remained. Sylvia was the only one who didn't buy Heather's claim and remained convinced that Mark and the others had been on a "rescue or silence" mission. "Whyte's completely clean. Give us something we can use," Sylvia said, trying to get a rise of out of Heather with the official reports. But it was no good. Heather didn't tell any more.

Lydia spent the next few days in deep thought, disturbed by what Heather perceived of her. She hadn't overcome her hatred. It remained and steadily grew the more she interacted with Heather. Such change and reconciliation for past misdeeds proved difficult on her own. She prayed earnestly about it, begging God to help her rid herself of the burning desire against the woman. "Please help me keep my anger in check and not strangle her." She also visited Gary the next day, believing some professional counsel wouldn't hurt.

"And every time I'm around her, I want to do just that," Lydia raised her fist and lowered it into her other palm, squeezing it hard.

Gary yawned and blinked his tired eyes. "Sorry," he said, grunting and shaking some of the color back into his rosy cheeks. "Haven't had much sleep lately. Been crammed with sessions." He trailed off for a moment and flipped through his notepad, reviewing his notes. "This anger you describe," he said, straightening his polo shirt and looking up, "is it the same as with Finster?"

"Sort of. I think," she said, dropping her head on the arm of the sofa. "I thought I was over it. That I could control it." The faded orange walls and soft sofa cushions encouraged her to nap. Gary's yawn was contagious, and she failed to bite one of hers down. Maybe he's learned to influence other people's emotions instead of their influencing his all the time, she wryly thought. Thankfully, the rotating security camera in the corner of the room kept her awake with its whirring, miniature motor.

"Is there anything else going on in your life that's stressing you out? Something that could be contributing to this problem?" Lydia wasn't in the mood to explain Cooper and Nina's predicament or her issues with Aidan. "Training can take its toll on many agents."

"Yeah, I know. There's that, but it's mainly her and when I'm around her."

"Could it then be because you've been around her more often than you're used to? Old wounds reopening?"

"It sounds like it. I don't want to kill her or anything," she mumbled into the sofa arm. "Or I don't intend to."

"But you still carry a grudge?" he asked. When she gave him a deadpan expression, he nodded. "Yes, that's to be expected. Given your circumstances, I'd be surprised if you didn't." He stroked his beard and set down his notepad. "What exactly is it that you're seeking from me, Lydia?"

"Some way to keep from snapping when I see her," Lydia said.

He steepled his fingers to his cherry cluster of a nose. "Did you ever make peace with what they did to your father? Made peace with them, not with his death, I mean."

She picked a little lint from the sofa. "You mean forgive her? After what she did to me?"

"That or at least try to settle the situation somehow. You've tried talking to her."

"And that makes it worse." Lydia dug her fingernails into the cushion, remembering how much she wanted to pound in Heather's smug face. "Is that all I can do?"

"It sounds that while you're not actively pursuing revenge, you harbor the same ill will for Heather from before. You've confronted part of your problem with your father's death. Yet you carry a deep-seated resentment. You can settle things with Heather without having to make up and be best friends," he said, smiling. "Otherwise, if you let this passive grudge fester, I'm afraid you may slip back into a bad place and lose control."

"Settle things with Heather?" Lydia said to herself. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Start by leaving behind your idea for vengeance and getting even. There is no such thing as 'even' in revenge."

"Sure, there is," Lydia said. "It's right there in the middle."

He shook his head. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," she said, flicking some lint away.

Gary checked his watch and closed his notepad. "I'm sorry, but I have another appointment." He gave a longer yawn than before. "Whoa, sorry. I really should take a nap when I have a chance." As she slid off the sofa, he said, "I'll help as much as I can, but I can only offer guidance. You have to choose what road you want to take. It'll get better in time, and I believe the more you confront these feelings, the better control you'll have."

"Yeah, thanks," she said. "Who knows? Maybe one day I won't want to break her nose as soon as I see her."

"Break whose nose?" Ryan asked, bounding in.

"Oh, just bad guys, Froggy," she said, ruffling his hair.

"Frog, not Froggy," he pouted and pushed her hand away. "Are you going to beat up bad guys? I want to see!" He seemed to notice Gary and forgot all about watching her fight. "Hey, Gary!"

"Hey there, Ryan. How are you today?" he asked, patting his knees and crouching to his level.

"I'm having trouble with that trick you showed. Can you show me again?" Ryan remembered Lydia and tugged on his arm. "Lydia, you got to see this!" His large glassy eyes begged her to stay.

"Yeah, sure," she said.

Gary laughed and picked up a deck of cards from his desk, shuffling them. "Watch closely," he said, his eyes twinkling with delight. "Now tell me when." He flipped through the deck, and Ryan stopped him in the middle, selected a card, showed the Queen of Hearts to Lydia, and put it on top of the deck.

"Now," Gary said, cutting the cards and then allowing the pair to cut the cards. He shuffled chunks of cards into one another until they were thoroughly mixed. "Is this," he snapped his fingers and turned over the top card, "your card?" The Queen of Hearts.

"Cool!" Ryan picked up the card, examining every inch of it. "How do you keep doing that?"

"Practice, patience, and a little hard work." He seemed to direct this statement at Lydia.

She nodded and grinned at Ryan. "I'll see you later, Froggy."

"See you, Beary." Now she pouted and tickled his side. He shrieked, much to her amusement, and she left him to his session, walking back to her dorm with a security guard escort.

On the way, she pondered Gary's advice. Settle things with Heather. Easier said than done. Heather was still alive and well, unlike her father. She hadn't suffered enough, which left Lydia unsatisfied. But she's behind bars, with people trying to kill her. Combine that with her ability and she's always at death's door, her life in shambles. Is that not enough? When was enough? What counted as enough?

She was lost in thought and didn't notice their detour to the elevators until they were going up. To her surprise, the guard led her to Arthur's office, where Aidan and Jando waited as well. Arthur offered them seats and dismissed all of their accompanying guards. "I'll get right to the point," he said. "Heather is being moved out of here tomorrow. The FBI is prepared to take her."

"No more interrogations?" Lydia asked.

"Not from us." He tapped his desk. "Sylvia is going with her, but Heather has asked for you to join her as well. Well, specifically Lydia. Frankly, I don't think it's a bad idea for all three of you. It'd be nice to have extra security besides Sylvia and our guards. Plus, this is the type of mission we send agents in training on," he said. "Routine prisoner transfer."

"Routine until her friends show up," Aidan pointed out.

"That's why we're being very cautious," Arthur said. "Keep this quiet. We only finalized the plan and the route this morning. We'll be passing her off to the FBI at a safe house. Then you turn around and come straight home."

"Where will we be going?" Lydia asked.

"I'll give you the details tomorrow morning. The briefing will begin at seven, then you'll leave. For the time being, you're allowed free reign of the Cave again. Prepare yourselves in any way, have your equipment checked," he said, nodding at Lydia's braces, "and be ready. That's all. Dismissed."

* * *

Mark watched as Valerie's hand walked its fingers across the countertop. Oliver stalked it, snapping his own fingers and humming the Addams's Family theme song. On one set of snaps, the hand jumped up, slapped one cheek, and then the other in time to the beat. Mark chuckled and the hand dragged a bag of chips back to Valerie.

They had chosen to hide in an abandoned mechanic's shop, part of a defunct franchise that Whyte had bought after it sank. The property had long been unused and made an excellent place to lie low. Mark had to contend with dust turning the green walls gray, spider webs in every corner, stiff backaches from sleeping on the hard floor, and waking up in the middle of the night to find spiders or insects at the foot of his blanket. At least it was roomier than the hotels.

However, the seven BEPs, crammed together with Emeryl and his twenty Overwatch mercenaries, made the place seem a little small. Thankfully, it was only for one night. They expected a call from Whyte anytime that morning to brief them about Heather.

Oliver sniffed the air. "Whoo, did someone have tacos last night? Oh," he said, turning and smiling at Lionel, "it's just you." Then he sat beside Mark in the shop's office and swatted the back of Anton's head, who was leaning on a file cabinet behind them. "How'd Virginia go?"

Anton glared at him, rubbing the spot. "Fine. Couple of hostages died."

"What about the Children of the New Age?"

He groaned. "Couldn't plan an attack if their life depended on it."

"Had to add a little power to it, eh?"

"That's assuming they had anything to work with." He passed a black box to Roy.

Whyte had sent the box with Roy. "Said it was supposed to help find Heather," Roy told them. "Had his boys working on it for a while." There was a zoom knob, a screen with a world map, and a couple of switch controls that moved the map around. There were a few other controls that Mark couldn't identify.

Anton's phone rang. "It's Whyte."

Everyone gathered around the office's termite-eaten desk and pressed their heads together. Anton held the phone out. "We're all here," he said.

"Good. They're moving out tomorrow morning and handing her off to the FBI near Appleton, Wisconsin."

"What's the plan?" Valerie asked.

"Find the convoy before it reaches the FBI or you'll have a harder fight on your hands. Take Heather, kill everyone else, and make it look like a terrorist attack."

"Then we act like we rescued Heather from terrorists," Sheila said.

"Precisely," Whyte said. "We'll hand her over to the government and finish her later. It's a win-win. We get Heather and show up the BEP Division. Make sure you do it fast. She's already told them my name. Who knows what else she'll say."

"Got it," Roy said. "About this thing you sent—"

"Ah, yes. Thanks to my contact in the BEP Division, we've constructed that crude device to track her. Get going to Appleton, and I'll explain how it works on the way."

"Everyone!" Sheila yelled at the mercenaries outside the office. "Load up!"

Oliver hustled Mark to the vehicles parked in the garage. Side by side were a line of two RVs and four Humvees, each freshly painted and brand new. To any eye, they were civilian vehicles, but Mark knew the truth. The RVs' fake outside shells each hid an APC; the thick armor and mounted cannon of these armored personnel carriers were ready for combat. Dozens of weapons and enough ammunition to wage a small war were packed in each. On the inside of the Humvees were retractable machine gun turrets, currently lowered into the middle of the cars. This proved a tight fit for the passengers, but they managed. Mark was assigned to one Humvee with Oliver, Roy, Emeryl, and Valerie. He was glad to be away from Lionel for a little while.

Mark protested against driving, but Valerie pushed him into the seat. "Relax. You'll do fine."

"Yeah, you got this," Roy said from the backseat. Mark sighed and grabbed the wheel. They took the lead of the convoy and pulled out of the mechanic's shop.
Chapter 13- Live Bait

Brentle summoned Lydia to a second-floor, spacious testing laboratory that afternoon. He had a new set of braces for her to try out. Unlike the crisscrossing spider-web frame of her current braces, these new ones were open and used less pieces in the overall design. Lydia examined the white braces as she slipped them on. "It's like they're not even on me. Weird."

The technician smiled and clapped the tips of his fingers. "Yes, yes. It's of my own design. A lighter weight, but it should retain the same toughness and increase your bone resistance a little more than the last ones." He ordered two other technicians to bring over a punching bag for Lydia, and she hit it several times, knocking it high into the air. Outside, Barrett put out her cigarette and entered, checking Lydia's hands and nodding in approval.

"Good work, Scott," she said. "With any luck, one day we'll build some that can handle any stress on her bones."

"Please remember to be careful with them," Brentle said. "They can still be damaged, and these took a while to build."

"I will," Lydia said. She jabbed the air, the lighter weight an odd, yet freeing experience. "So what do you call them?"

"Call them?" He scratched his head, a few stray hairs falling out. "Oh, right. Uh, I completely forgot to name them. Hmm, let's see." He drummed his fingers against his lips, muttering to himself.

"That's not like you," Barrett said, smirking.

"Been busy. Other things on my mind. Oh!" Snapping his fingers, he pointed at Lydia. "The Lunar Arms and Legs! Yes? For the lighter feel?"

"Yes, I get it," Lydia said. She thanked him and left Barrett and Brentle to discuss another invention. Outside, she bumped into Harper, who was on the phone and reading over a report. The vein in his temple throbbed and his face was beet red.

"You tell that idiot that he set us back by a week!" His teeth crunched hard to the breaking point. "Does he think the money for that equipment is going to fall out of the sky? And of course I'll be the one cleaning it all up. Now what about the tank?"

The tank? Harper was wrapped up in his conversation and hadn't noticed Lydia, who had stopped to listen. Is that what we're going to be using to transport Heather? she wondered. Didn't think they were that worried about another attack.

"Uh-huh, yeah," Harper said. "Good-bye." He jammed his phone into his forehead, digging it deep into the skin, and sighed. "Tell me it was an inch off one more time. I'll jam that ruler down your throat and give you an actual spine, you—" Then he saw Lydia. "Yes, Ms. Penner?"

"Oh, sorry," she said. "Overheard you're building a tank?"

"Not that kind. A water tank," he said, flipping through the report in his folder.

"For Nina?" She tried to peer at the folder. "Is that her file?"

"Yes," he said and raised his gaze. "Care to see it?"

She was taken aback. "I thought you told me it was for her eyes only."

"She gave you permission to see it," he said, flipping the folder to her.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I didn't bother to ask. She told me during one of our meetings, and it's her decision. Now do you want to look at it or not?"

She took the folder and perused the various pages within. Many were technical documents, with blueprints for modifications to her helmet, a tank of water of some sort for sleeping, and other equipment. "What's all this for?" Lydia asked, turning a page.

"For Nina to live at home," he said. "She can't very well stay in the ocean—or here—for the rest of her life. We're building these things for her to live with her family." He pointed out the helmet. "Her current one is crude at best. Prone to spilling, no way of hearing or speaking without risking the water dumping out, and it doesn't regulate the content of the water either. And she can't be expected to wear that helmet all the time. As for sleeping," he said, and indicated the tank and explained examples for the other planned machines' uses, too.

"So all this is for when she goes home?" Lydia asked.

"Yes," he said. "Believe it or not, I'm not the bad guy here. I'm concerned for her safety, which is why we're working hard to build this."

Lydia hadn't expected that and felt embarrassed for lashing out at him. "Oh. Um, I see. That's good. Thank you." Nina deserved this much help for a normal life, after being in the Cave for years.

"Yes, it is," he said. She handed the folder back, and he tucked it under his arm. "With any luck, we'll be done within a year."

A year? That wasn't so bad. Then again, when Lydia thought about how she hadn't even been here a year and how much had happened, and how long it felt since she was last home, she could see why Nina was upset. A year without her brother was a long time. Sure, he could visit, but it wasn't the same.

One question bugged her though. "If it'll only take a year, how come this stuff wasn't built before? I mean, Nina and Cooper have been here for several years."

"Because we're not focused only on them," Harper said. "Many BEPs come through here, all seeking a cure or a way to cope with their ability." He nodded to her braces. "We have to give high priority to those in danger of harming themselves and those we can discharge as soon as possible. Not to mention this equipment—like all the others we build— is expensive. We're giving it to the family for free. However, someone still needs to foot the bill, and we have many bills to foot besides this."

"Okay," Lydia said. "But why move Cooper out?"

"As I already told you, we cannot house BEPs here forever. I tried to keep him here as long as possible, but our superiors are breathing down our necks for results. And two people here for years is an outlier that they don't like." Straightening his tie, he said, "Now then, I must be off before a certain twit costs us more money. Good day."

Lydia pondered what he'd just told her and couldn't believe Nina had allowed her to see the file. Was it something I said? It had to be. Maybe Nina was starting to open up to her and realized she meant to help.

She passed the information along to Cooper. It seemed only right. He took the news well, all things considered. "At least she's getting out, too," he said. "Thanks. I appreciate your help."

"Anytime," she said, stirring a hand in the pool's water. She wished there was some other solution besides waiting, yet it was an inevitable and unfortunate situation.

"Will you do one more thing for me?" he asked. "Will you watch over her?"

She flicked droplets off her hand and sat down. "Sure thing." She resolved to do that anyway. Cooper dove deep, and Lydia watched him swim for a while, glad that one problem was solved. The transport tomorrow loomed closer with each hour and resided in the forefront of her mind, occupying the space where Nina and Cooper had been. Her whole body was antsy, ready for the transport to be finished.

Lydia dipped her feet in the pool, freezing her nerves. She yelped when Cooper suddenly grabbed her toes. They both laughed and she felt a little more at ease as she kicked a wave of water into his face.

* * *

Whyte called Roy, and he held out the phone for everyone to hear the explanation about the tracking device he had provided. "The BEP Division created a pill that can track someone, modeled after Rooke's own design. Theirs is different, but thanks to our people, the tracker I sent with Roy can locate Heather from a hundred miles away." Roy turned over the black device, displaying it. "Double the amount their handhelds can pinpoint her. You'll have the advantage. Be careful, since the one in their base beats it in range. We didn't have enough time to copy that one. As soon as you take Heather, they'll know, so you'll have to be in and out. Get her back here as soon as possible. No mistakes."

"Roger that," Roy said. Whyte delved further into how to operate the device while Mark drove. Their convoy had split up so as not to draw suspicion. Anton, Lionel, and Sheila led half, taking a pair of Humvees and one of the RVs with them. On the interstate roads, Mark caught glimpses of the others.

"Anyone got any idea how we're going to do this?" Valerie asked when Roy finished with Whyte. "Tracking her is all well and good, but do we camp on a hill and wait for them or what?"

"We'll get to Appleton, Wisconsin. By then, we should pick up Heather," Emeryl said, taking the tracker. "We'll go ahead and ambush them outside of town, preferably somewhere with a good vantage. I'd like to bottleneck them, too."

"How should we ambush them? Pretend one of the Humvees is broken down in the middle of the road?" Oliver suggested.

"Should probably have the Humvees to the side, already deployed," Emeryl said. "Having them in the middle of the road, they'd spot the turrets before they got close enough. And setting up the turrets after they've arrived would leave our people vulnerable. We need something else."

"How about we swipe a regular car then?"

He shook his head. "They wouldn't fall for an empty car."

"Put one of our people in it as bait. Make it look like they crashed. I'll volunteer." Oliver rubbed his hands together. "Imagine the look on their faces when I blow them away."

"Maybe," Emeryl said." Although I don't like having one of ours so close. If we have to set up far from the road, then you'd have no backup." Emeryl scratched his head. "Besides, we'd have police looking for a car, and I think we have enough heat with you, Mark, and Lionel, don't you?" Oliver deflated and slumped.

"Maybe get some construction signs and cones, find a lonesome road ahead of them, and put those there?" Roy chimed in.

"Whatever we do, if we can at least slow them down, we'll have a better chance," Valerie said.

They discussed and brainstormed, sometimes asking Mark for his opinion. He didn't have anything to contribute. Too much of his focus was on Heather and the impending attack. There had to be a way out for the both of them. He considered stealing one of the Humvees when everyone was preoccupied, but common sense told him that everyone would stay near the armored cover and large gun.

He resigned himself to driving, enjoying the sunset in the distance as they traveled down a long, empty stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. The scene was serene and peaceful, a meadow to the left side filled with tall, waving grass.

The peace was broken by a group of motorcycles, which roared ahead of them and hogged the road. About fifteen of them, some with two riders to a cycle, jeered and pointed at the two Humvees and RV behind them. A few daredevils fell back from the group, and one braked right in front of Mark. He slammed his own brakes, throwing everyone forward.

The motorcycle drove on, and the man laughed before stopping short again, touching their bumper with the rear of the cycle. Again, Mark braked and swerved. "Problem?" Oliver asked, holding Mark's seat. He cracked his eyes, a spurt of fire shooting out.

"No, it's nothing," Mark said. He tried to turn off the road into the grass, but another motorcycle blocked him. Beside the Humvee, the braking cyclist's friends cheered him on. When the man stopped once more, Oliver's leg straddled Mark's and floored the gas pedal. The cyclist and Mark gasped in horror as the Humvee ran him over.

Mark stopped the Humvee for good this time and checked his rearview mirror. The cyclist was lying in front of the second Humvee, bloodied, broken, tangled in the crushed motorcycle, but alive. Mark breathed a sigh of relief and rounded on Oliver. "What did you do that for?!"

"Helping natural selection along," he said, prying himself off Mark.

"Looks like you rattled the hornet's nest," Roy said. Mark turned to watch the rest of the motorcycles stop in the street. Their riders dismounted, amassing into a black shadow swarm in the fading light that raced toward them. A few passed the Humvee and helped up their friend while the rest pounded and banged on the doors, shouting curses and threats at Mark. Most wielded weapons: knives, wrenches, a couple of handguns; one aimed a shotgun at the windshield.

"They ran him over!" one shouted, beating the hood with his fist. "You ran him over!"

Oliver rolled down his window a sliver. "I don't suppose saying, 'Sorry, but your friend was reckless' would help?"

"Drag them out of there!" someone yelled. "Let's see how tough they are without their car!"

"I don't think they want to talk," Mark said.

Valerie slapped Oliver's ear. "Perfect. More problems. We don't have time for this," she said.

"Well, we can't exactly leave," Emeryl said as the gang surrounded the RV and the other Humvee. "They'll call the cops."

Not to mention that I'm wanted, Mark thought. Then he realized how great that was. As long as they survived long enough for the police to arrive, everything would be okay.

Emeryl looked behind them at the injured cyclist and hummed. "Hey, Valerie," he said, nodding in that direction. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

She turned to the cyclist, hoisted up by two others. "I think so. At least get something out of this."

He agreed. "Waste not, want not."

"Looks like we got the perfect bait for your plan, Ollie," she said.

"Oh, he's alive? Great!" Oliver said. Studying his grin, Mark wondered if Oliver had actually planned for that or not. Either way disturbed him.

A knife-crazed woman tugged at Mark's door. "Got enough sun for a blast?" Valerie asked Roy.

He studied the orange horizon for a few moments and slumped. "A small one, I suppose."

Emeryl called to the Humvee behind them on a walkie-talkie. "Get ready for a warm-up. Be sparing with your bullets."

"We could just knock them out. I doubt they'll remember us," Roy said.

"Can't take any chances."

He sighed and faced the sun. His eyes, nose, and mouth began to light up, and his cheeks and neck brightened to a ghostly white.

"Cover your eyes," Valerie ordered. Mark obeyed, and between the slits in his fingers, blinding light broke through, as if he were up close to a supernova. Then it faded as quickly as it had come, and the doors opened around him. People screamed and Emeryl shouted orders to the mercenaries.

Through his bleary vision, Mark saw the motorcycle group stumbling around, blind and fleeing for their lives. Emeryl and a few mercenaries gunned down several. A biker grabbed Roy from behind, but he flipped the biker over his shoulder and into one of the others, and then knocked out another biker with a swift one-two punch. Valerie broke one woman's arm, stealing her knife and stabbing her in the stomach. Then she threw her arm, knife extended, into a man's back. For any that escaped the bullets, Oliver swept through with a burning blaze. Charred bodies shrieked and rolled on the ground. He caught one of the mercenaries on the arm, who shouted and patted out the flames. Oliver didn't seem to notice and kept incinerating any still alive. In short, it was a massacre.

Mark stepped out of the Humvee. The smell of burning skin wafted into his nostrils and he doubled over, vomiting on the road. As he spat out the last chunks, a pair of arms wrapped around him and held a switchblade to his throat. It was one of the cyclists who had helped the injured one. Another cyclist beside him held a pistol, aiming as Emeryl and Valerie approached.

"Get back!" the gunman said. He switched between holding the pistol to Mark's head, and then at the others. "Back, you freaks! We'll kill him!" The knife pressed farther into Mark's throat. The boy rolled his eyes, dragging his feet while his captors moved backward.

Valerie picked up her arm, jerking it at the Humvee. "I'll be in the car," she said, climbing back in her seat. Oliver took her place beside Emeryl.

"Want me to just torch them, Mark?" Oliver asked, blinking and letting flames jet out. Mark's stomach flopped and the two cyclists yelped, all three pulling farther away.

"No, no!" he shouted. "No, I got it."

Emeryl touched Oliver's shoulder. "Let him handle it. I want to see what he can do."

Mark grabbed the blade with his bare hand and wrenched it from his neck. He fought with the man for the weapon and jammed the sharp edge at the cyclist's arm. The blade cut the man's forearm, who grabbed his wound. Mark punched the cyclist hard in the jaw, bringing him to his knees, and kicked him over. He snatched the switchblade and faced the gunman.

"Stay back!" the gunman shouted. Mark stepped forward and the pistol went off, striking him square in the forehead. He flicked the squashed bullet off. The stupefied gunman unloaded the entire clip into Mark, head to chest. When the gun clicked, he threw it at Mark and bolted into the meadow.

One lone shot rang out from Emeryl's pistol and the runner was down. Then he shot the switchblade wielder and reloaded. "Not too shabby, Mark. Alright, let's gather the bodies."

Thirty minutes later, the motorcycle group and their motorcycles had been piled into a large dirt clearing far from the road in the meadow. Roy said a short prayer for them as Emeryl and Valerie executed any who were still breathing. The injured cyclist was loaded into the APC in the RV with his motorcycle, wailing and gnashing his teeth. "Keep him breathing," Emeryl told his men. Roy directed the mercenaries in helping him stabilize their prisoner, staunching the blood loss as best as he could.

"Yeah, don't go dying on us yet," Oliver said, patting the man's cheek. "Got an important job for you. If you want, I can cauterize some wounds."

As Roy and Emeryl adjusted the cyclist in the RV, Mark guided Oliver to the pile of bodies and vehicles. The meadow no longer seemed serene and the grass no longer moved. The sun's dying rays cast a bloody glow across the land and all nature seemed deathly quiet, too shocked by the brutality it had just witnessed to make a sound. "Well, you did good, Mark. Real good."

The boy dipped his head when Oliver ruffled his hair, letting only his fingers brush the fringe. "Thanks." He dropped Oliver's hand as soon as they were close to the pile and stood far from him.

"What's that sound?" Oliver asked.

Peering closer at the bodies, Mark found one person still alive. A man trapped underneath two heavier bodies and vainly trying to crawl out. "Sounds like we got a live one," Oliver said, crouching.

"We could use him as bait," Mark said. "Take one of the other motorcycles, make it look like they hit each other."

"Nah, we only got room for one," Oliver said, chewing the earpiece of his sunglasses. He held out a pistol to Mark. "Care to do the honors?"

The boy accepted the gun and Oliver set him in front. "Just aim and pull the trigger."

The fearful cyclist begged him not to, painful tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. "Please, don't. Help," he said in a raspy breath. He extended his hand, stretching out for Mark's. This all seemed very familiar to the boy and he wavered.

Mark couldn't do this. He knew that and Oliver picked up on his hesitation. "Oh, is this your first one?" he asked. "Man, you made it through with Heather and Finster without a gun or killing anyone? That's impressive." He wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled his head in. "Okay, I'll break you in. Kind of exciting, eh? I'm so proud to be here for your first." He shook his shoulder and wiped a fake tear away. "Deep breaths. Take it easy. Practice squeezing the trigger. Pull on the inhale, release on the exhale." He sucked in through his nostrils and blew out air until Mark copied him. "Good. Go ahead."

"Please. I won't tell anyone," the cyclist said. "Please."

As he looked down the sights, Mark couldn't bring himself to kill him. The gun started to shift toward Oliver. Right here and now, he could end this. Take out the only immediate threat to him for miles and then steal one of the Humvees. Drifting further, the idea took definite shape in Mark's mind. He could find Heather and the BEP Division with Roy's tracker and escape these people, hide, and have a fighting chance. Perhaps take this last victim to the hospital. He didn't look too wounded and could probably make it. This is the only way. Nothing short of this would work.

But even when he turned the barrel to Oliver's smiling face, he failed to shoot. Mark aimed lower at the side of his chest. A nonlethal shot. That he could manage. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked and he examined it.

"Oops," Oliver said, running his fingers along the gun. "Forgot to take the safety off. Right there, see?" He flipped the switch on the side up and down. "On. Off. On. Off. Now, go ahead."

Mark took a deep breath and aimed at Oliver's chest again. One. Two.

"Hey, hurry it up!" Valerie yelled. "We got to move!"

Oliver grabbed the gun from Mark and tucked it in his pants. "Sorry. We'll try another day when we have more time." He opened his eyes and set fire to the vehicles and the bodies, living and dead. The cyclist yelled as the flames engulfed him and his screams, and Oliver breathed deep. "Ah. Reminds me of a poem. Bonfires are red, nighttimes are blue, you're dead and gone, so I don't have to think of a rhyme for blue." He laughed at his joke. The smell of burning flesh gagged Mark, and he stumbled back to the Humvee, Oliver trailing behind him after a minute.

For the rest of the drive, Mark insisted that Roy sit in the passenger seat. "I'll need him to guide me when they show up on the tracker," he said. Oliver accepted that reason and they set off. Mark tried not to look at the fire in the distance as it shrank to the size of a candle flame.

* * *

In the morning, Arthur assembled Lydia, Aidan, and Jando in a dimmed ready room on the third floor of the Center. A handful of technicians were on computers, watching maps on their glowing monitors and holding murmured discussions. On the front wall was a projected zoomed-in map of Wisconsin. On the opposite side was one of the Cave, complete with the surrounding area and routes leading out. "What are these ones?" Lydia asked, pointing to winding tunnels near the airplane runway.

"Emergency escape routes," Arthur said. "In case the front entrance ever caves in."

"That happen often?" she asked.

"Helps to be prepared."

Would've made sneaking out of the Cave the first time a lot easier, she thought, studying them.

In addition, four security guards had been chosen to attend the briefing. "These are the drivers," Arthur told them. "You'll have fourteen overall going with you. I'm not taking any chances. If Roland Whyte or anyone else tries something again, we will be ready. You'll be traveling to a safe house outside of Appleton, Wisconsin." He pointed north of the city on the projected map. "Agent Sylvia and the drivers," he nodded to them, "have the route you will take. We also have backup routes planned if necessary that they have been informed of."

Aidan stopped him. "Wait, we're supposed to go in without knowing how to get there and back?"

"Telling you would reveal the Cave's location, and you're not full-fledged agents," Arthur said.

"Neither are they," he said, pointing at the drivers.

"They're our most senior guards after Morella," Arthur said. "Don't worry."

"It's fine," Lydia whispered in Aidan's ear. "Not like we don't have some idea where it is if worse comes to worst." Judging from the trips outside of the Cave, the three often speculated they were in Michigan. If not there, then close to its borders. Arthur and anyone who knew the answer never confirmed or denied their guesses."You'll meet up with Special Agent Rogers of the FBI," Arthur continued.

"Oh, the guy from Golden Springs?" Jando asked.

"The same. Your priority is getting Heather to Rogers safely. Once done, you'll return to the Cave. You leave in twenty minutes. Get going."

In the parking lot, four square-box, armored transports were waiting for them. Several guards escorted Heather to the second one in the line. Arthur hadn't been kidding about not taking chances. Each guard wore Kevlar vests, thick helmets; each carried an assault rifle in his or her hands and a pistol on their hips. As usual, Heather marched along in handcuffs on her feet and wrists, chained together, and exhaling smoke through her filter. From all the security, one would think her a dangerous psychopath who would break loose at any moment and murder everyone in the vicinity.

Sylvia held up a pill to Heather's mouth and lifted the filter. "Open." She tossed the pill in and waited for her to swallow it. Then she flipped on her tracker and confirmed that Heather appeared. "Hope you weren't planning to try and leave."

"And miss your charming company? Perish the thought," Heather said, wearing a wry grin as Sylvia lowered the filter.

"No need to spare my feelings," Sylvia said, standing aside. The two guards loaded Heather into the transport.

"Glad we have that to keep an eye on her," Lydia said.

"Yeah. Only lasts for a few hours though." Sylvia rattled a pill bottle. "That's why I brought spares for the trip." The other guards divvied up amongst the remaining vehicles. "Where's Morella?" she asked, scanning their faces.

"Praying to the porcelain god," one of the guards beside Heather said. "I didn't even go in. You wouldn't believe the smell. He sent me as his replacement."

Barrett and Gary approached, talking to one another before handing folders to Sylvia. "Here's her files," Barrett said. "Everything should be there for her transfer to Dr. Potts."

"And Dr. Kimball," Gary added. He leaned in, looking at Heather. "You'll like him. He's really looking forward to working with you, too. He hasn't had a BEP patient in a while." Heather's irritable expression said she was ready to leave him and his sessions far behind. Undeterred, Gary offered a friendly smile. "Hope all goes well!"

Sylvia and the three teenagers climbed into Heather's transport, strapping in to the long benches on both sides. Up front, the driver checked on them through the mesh opening separating them from his seat and started the vehicle. Arthur joined Barrett and Gary to see everyone off, and the transports rumbled out of the Cave, jostling everyone around to start their bumpy journey.
Chapter 14- The Sawmill

The transports had no windows in the rear. Lydia had no idea how long they drove or how close they were to their destination. An hour or so passed. She tried sleeping but was too alert for that. Nobody talked and the guards kept their rifles at the ready. Heather tapped her foot nonstop and kept glancing to the front. It put Lydia on edge as well.

"Nervous?" Lydia finally asked.

"Prepared," Heather said.

"Do you really think he knows where we are?" Lydia asked. She received a silent answer. "What makes you so sure he knows?"

"He has eyes and ears everywhere," Heather said, resting her head on the hard wall. "If he doesn't know, he soon will. His employees are very dedicated to him."

"What employees? You make it sound like he runs a company, but all we found was that he's an investor."

Heather shook her head. "I told you: he controls various companies through figureheads. You think he'll put himself in the spotlight for you to find? Please."

"Then tell us how to find him." Heather closed her eyes and turned to the side. Lydia sat back, pressing her fist into her lips. How? How to get Heather to talk? Her eyes drifted to the filter and sparked an idea. "You know, if you cooperate, we could help you." Heather cracked an eye. "You told me in Golden Springs that Rooke offered you a cure for your ability. Dr. Barrett and Dr. Brentle could help you find a cure."

Smirking and pointing her nose in the air, Heather said, "Sylvia's made me the same offer in the past. Tell me, how many people have they cured?"

Lydia looked down sheepishly. "Three."

"Completely cured?"

Lydia sighed. "One. But that's not to say they can't find a cure for you."

"Oh, sure," Heather said. "And while we're wishing on a star, let's ask for world peace and no more diseases. Gosh, living in a fantasy world sure is wonderful."

"They can at least help you live with your ability," Lydia continued.

"Like you?" Heather said, pointing at the braces. "Great job there. It's like you're a regular person. You blend right in as if nothing's wrong at all."

"They help me cope with my strength."

"I don't want to cope with this. Why on earth would anyone want to?" she said flatly.

"We thought the same at first." Lydia looked at Aidan. "Abilities gained by accident that hampered us. But our abilities proved to be useful."

Heather cut her off. "Useful? Toxins building up in my system is useful? There's only one use this 'ability' has and you know what it is."

"That's not true," Lydia said. "All our abilities can be helpful to ourselves or others, and we're put in the right place at the right time to do just that." Sylvia and Aidan listened in and smiled at her while Jando squeezed her hand.

"Ah, so I suffer involuntarily for someone else's benefit," Heather said. "Because it's certainly not my own. That makes it all better and puts everything into perspective." She sighed and rubbed her face. "They've indoctrinated you more than I thought."

"No, this is me," Lydia said, frustrated.

"Then you're all the more foolish. You want to play hero and use your strength for the greater whatever? Fine. But don't you dare think you'll convince me this is some gift or that I'll settle for anything less than a cure."

Lydia gave up and Sylvia tightened Heather's handcuffs. "That's enough for now," Sylvia said. Lydia didn't know why she expected any difference and left her alone for the time being, leaning on Jando's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist and, to her relief, ventured no further, although Aidan did turn away from them. Up ahead, the driver announced they were an hour away from the safe house.

* * *

Mark drove throughout the night, switching with Valerie for a few hours to catch some shut-eye. He couldn't spread out in the cramped car and woke up with a stiff neck. In the morning, he took the wheel again. By that time, they had exited Appleton on the north end and Roy picked up Heather's signature on the tracker.

From the current position and the city behind them, Roy determined the general route the transports planned to take and guided Mark to a winding road with sloping hills on either side. One part of the road was straight and they stopped there, meeting up with the other half of the convoy.

Lionel, Anton, and Sheila gathered with the others on the left side of the road on top of the hills, and Emeryl surveyed their position. In the distance, Appleton rested on the horizon.

"They'll turn there," he said, indicating where the road curved before the straightaway. "The hill will block them from seeing us until it's too late."

"And our view of them until they're in front of us," Lionel said.

"Right, which is why we need to be ready." The trees in the surrounding area provided some cover for the mercenaries. A pair of Humvees and an RV were set up on clear spots at the edge of the hilltop on the other side of the road.

"We'll back the other vehicles into the trees. That should camouflage them," Emeryl said, pointing with the pistol attached to his hand. "Then we'll roll out when we attack. Hit them hard and fast. We can't dawdle. They'll call the FBI the moment we start, and they won't be far." The mercenaries rushed around, setting up the gun turrets and stripping the RV exteriors for the APC guns.

Sheila shielded her eyes and pointed to the other side of the road. "What's that? A mill?" Mark squinted. It looked like an old, small wooden sawmill perched in the middle of the trees on the opposite slope. No sound came from it, and he assumed it was shut down. A dirt road branched off from the main road, leading up to the entrance. Not a bad hiding place. If he and Heather lay low there until the shooting stopped, they had a good chance to slip out from under everyone's noses.

"We'll set a few people in there in case they try to make a break for it, darling," Emeryl said. Mark's shoulders sagged, his promising bubble burst. "How are we doing this?"

"Whyte texted me this morning. There's four transports," Anton said. "Heather will be in the second or third one. Can we hit the front and rear and close them off?"

Emeryl nodded and ordered the RPGs unloaded. "Martinez, Young, and Fulbright! Get to the road and be ready to shoot on my command." Three mercenaries hopped to the task and ran off into the forest, laden with rifles and the rocket-propelled grenades, the RPGs. "Jones, Overton, and Henderson, back them up."

Oliver, Anton, and Mark grabbed the cyclist and his motorcycle from the APC and carried them down to the road. The cyclist was in horrible shape and teetered on the verge of unconsciousness. Under his clothes, his ribs sank inward and his legs zigzagged from hip to foot, broken in different spots. His face resembled a large squashed tomato oozing from every crevice. When Anton dropped him in the middle of the road, he groaned and raised a weak arm.

"Thanks for grounding him," Oliver said, missing Anton's disgusted face. He accepted the man's arm and shook it heartily. "And thank you for being a good sport about this. We've got a perfect role for you to play." Anton climbed back up the hill and Oliver crouched next to the man's ear. "Your part is a drunk victim of a hit and run. Can you do that?"

The man's breath came in heavy rasps. Oliver twisted one of the legs and he cried out. Mark winced, nearly feeling the pain himself. "That right there! That's perfect. You were born to play this part, uh, hmm," he rubbed his chin. "I never caught your name. I'll call you Jerry. You seem like a Jerry." Oliver dragged the motorcycle over, setting it atop one of Jerry's legs. "It's showtime!"

Together with Mark, Oliver hid amongst the trees with other mercenaries, all of whom waited with rifles and weapons trained on the road. Mark leaned on a trunk, picking at the bark nonstop as his stomach tied into a tangled knot. His feet twitched and he constantly shifted, ready to move as soon as the transports were in view. Get Heather and run. Get Heather and run. His ears perked up. In the quiet distance, several engines rumbled. Here we go.

* * *

"All I'm saying," Aidan said, squirming in his seat, "is why do these kinds of cars always have no actual seats? What's wrong with a plain seat like a van has?" He turned to the guards in the back, but both exchanged clueless looks with each other.

"Uh, that's just how they're made," one said.

"But why? Certainly can't be good for your back."

"To make the prisoners uncomfortable?" Jando said.

"And the guards? Is it to keep them alert?"

"Maybe," Lydia said.

He looked at Sylvia for the answer. "What do you think?"

She was preoccupied with what was happening in front of them. She lifted off the seat a little and stretched her neck, saying, "I think we're slowing down." She tapped on the metal mesh. "What's going on?"

The transport came to a complete stop and the driver said, "There's a crashed motorcycle in the middle of the road. They're stopping to help." Then he took out a cell phone and called for an ambulance. Sylvia's brows knitted, as did Heather's. They both wore a skeptical expression.

"Hey," Sylvia said to the driver. "Tell the lead transport we'll continue on. We have to get to the safe house."

Suddenly, the first transport exploded in a fiery mass right outside the windshield. Sylvia toppled off her seat and the rest flew around, tumbling on top of one another. The first transport hopped in the air and crashed onto the road, hungry flames devouring it. Seconds later, a similar boom resounded behind them. On the radio panel up front, the third transport was shouting at them.

"Transport two! Transport two! What was that?!"

Sylvia banged on the mesh and the shaking driver yelped. "Get us out of here!" she said.

The transport lurched forward, driving around the wreck. Two explosions set off in front of them and on the right. The driver swerved, heading through the flames. Bullets thumped their sides like hail. He turned onto a dirt path off the road and climbed a hill. The transport bounced and jumped as it traveled on the rough terrain, with more explosions setting off beside them.

The driver grabbed the radio and asked, "Transport three? Are you with us?"

"Yeah, we're here!"

"Transport four? Are you there?"

"They're gone!" transport three said. "Exploded out of nowhere! What's going on?"

Up ahead was a gated sawmill. The driver crashed through the gate and turned, stopping in front of the entrance with the passenger side to the front door. They waited for a few moments but there was no more gunfire.

"Call the police," Sylvia ordered. The driver fumbled with his phone as Sylvia dialed Agent Rogers, pulling on her sound-dampening gloves and drawing her pistol in the process. A guard picked himself up and threw the back doors open, hopping out with his gun raised. "No!" Sylvia screamed. A stream of bullets embedded into his vest from the sawmill's entrance, knocking the guard into the doors. Aidan reached out and grabbed the guard by the shoulders, pulling him into the transport.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the guard said, panting and running her hands over her vest. "Hurts something awful, but I'm fine."

"Who are these guys?" Jando asked.

Spinning to Lydia, Sylvia pointed at the wall facing away from the sawmill. "We're sitting ducks here. Make a hole and everyone else, follow her." Lydia disentangled herself from the mess and raised her fist, slamming it into the wall. Stinging pain shot through her arm. The surface was tough, but she was tougher. Two more heavy punches and her fist broke through. She pushed aside the pain and tore the hole open wider, stomping the lower part and pulling the top, like ripping a curtain.

When the opening was wide enough for a body, she slipped through and helped Jando out next. "Get them out. I'll go help the other transport." She raced to the end and peeked out from behind her transport. She couldn't see the attackers. The third transport had parked behind them, and its driver was already crouched behind the front wheel, his rifle ready.

"I'll cover you," he mouthed. Bouncing on the ball of one foot, and then the other, Lydia dove for the next transport. A short burst of gunfire chased her and missed. The driver traded shots. "Target down," he said. "Two more."

Lydia wound up her fist. Just as the pain had receded a little, it returned in force as she left a deep dent in the third transport's exterior. She continued hitting the side until she formed a hole. She tore through, only able to make a crawl space from her level. "C'mon!" she said, hurrying the guards inside through the hole. "Get out of there!"

As the guards tossed their guns ahead of them and crawled out, Lydia checked on the road behind them. Nobody followed from the dirt path yet, although faint voices shouted at the bottom. On the road below, the other two transports were smoldering carcasses, swarmed by people running past them. Sporadic gunfire echoed across the hills.

On the opposite slope, a few large vehicles were driving to the road, flashing through the trees. From above, she heard engines coming closer, traveling fast. More of those vehicles? she thought. "Hurry, hurry," she said, yanking a guard through the crawl space. To the side, the drivers and Sylvia shot at the two enemies in the sawmill.

The last guard climbed out and Sylvia yelled, "Target down! One more. Second floor."

The enclosing vehicles crashed through the trees, louder, almost on them. "Sylvia!" Lydia called. She mouthed, "I'm going in!" She beckoned Aidan to her, and he jumped from vehicle to vehicle.

"On my mark," Sylvia said to the guards. She counted down on her fingers, and when they stood, guns raised, and fired, Aidan flew Lydia to a grimy window on the second floor.

Breaking through the window and onto a catwalk, Lydia and Aidan spun to their left. The shooter was shocked to see them. Before he aimed, the two pounced on him, punching and kicking him until he was out cold. Aidan waved an all clear to those outside.

Jando ran from cover first and kicked open the shoddy front door. He urged everyone inside as the vehicles cleared the trees. Two Humvees, both with swiveling gun turrets, peppered the sawmill. A large APC stopped and popped its rear, spilling armed people. Jando pulled the door shut and jumped back as bullets pounded it.

"Half of you, go up top," Sylvia ordered the guards. "Jando, go with them. Do your thing."

"You got it," he said, climbing the stairs with the guards.

"Watch the door," she said to two others. "And watch Heather." Their prisoner sat in the corner against a support beam, dazed from being thrown around. "The rest of you, follow me. We need to secure any other entrances. We'll hole up here until the FBI and the police arrive. Should be soon."

One of the Humvee gun turrets fell silent. On the catwalk above them, Jando pumped his fist and made two more guards disappear while firing. "Take that, scumbag!"

The rest of the sawmill was dark and empty. Conveyor belts traveled between the first floor and the catwalks on the second floor. All conveyor belts led to and from large machines or empty metal bins. Most of the machines were equipped with old, rusted saws that still smelled faintly of sawdust.

In the corner up top was a foreman's office, furnished with an empty desk and a bare bulletin board, and there was one side entrance on the first floor. Lydia strained and struggled with one of the smaller, still heavy machines, ripping through the tough wiring connecting it to the wall and pushing the machine in front of the entrance. Meanwhile, Sylvia found a generator in the back. To their relief, there was still some fuel in it. She turned it on and the lights flickered to life. The machines started, too, buzzing and whirring, and conveyor belts delivered empty loads to the saws.

In the front, a blast shook the building. Everyone regrouped to the front. A guard was dead and a hole was blown out of the second floor, leaving a large gap in the catwalk and wall. "This whole place is going to fall!" one of the guards said.

"We got to take out the RPG!" Jando said.

Sylvia sprinted to the top floor and, together with a guard, aimed at the man outside loading another round into the RPG. As he shouldered the weapon and aimed, they sprayed him with bullets. Several struck his arms and neck and he fell over, the RPG going off on the ground. The shot went under the APC and exploded, bouncing it up and rocking it on its wheels. Slowly, it groaned and tipped on its side.

The people outside stared in disbelief and the guards cheered. A guard took advantage of the stupor and grabbed a grenade off the enemy Lydia and Aidan had taken down. She lobbed the grenade at a Humvee, and it threw the vehicle up and over. The turret shooter shrieked and ducked inside his seat, very nearly squashed.

Two other Humvees and an APC approached and stopped. "Great," Aidan said.

Several people climbed out of the APC, some familiar to Lydia. She recognized Emeryl, who ranted and chewed out the attackers below, tapping the barrel of his pistol to his head. She realized they must be mercenaries.

"Think!" Emeryl said, whacking one mercenary in the forehead and slapping an RPG out of another's hands.

Beside him, Mark, the people from Washington, and others she had never seen before looked at the hole. That group was not heavily armed like the rest. Were they all BEPs? More important, "How did they find us?" she asked aloud.

"We'll worry about that later," Sylvia said. "Let's take care of this first."

A clean, professional gentleman stepped away from the group and raised his hands to Sylvia. "Hello," he said, almost drowned out by the factory noise. "May I speak to Sylvia Romero?"

Sylvia raised her head a little, studying him. "What do you want?"

He gestured to his people to lower their weapons, and they complied. "I want to make a deal," he said. "I think we can all walk away from this without any more bloodshed."

"How's that?"

"We want Heather. That's all," he said.

"For who? Roland Whyte?"

"Our employer prefers to remain anonymous. I will tell you they want Heather, and I'm sure they're open to a deal. Give her to us and you can leave."

Sylvia looked down at Heather and reloaded her pistol. "What guarantee do we have you won't just blow up the building with us in it?"

"How about I come in and talk?" he said. "Alright? My people won't shoot as long as I'm in there."

Below, Heather shook her head, muttering, "No," over and over.

Lydia, Aidan, and Jando huddled near Sylvia. "We have to stall," Sylvia said. "Rogers will be here with backup soon."

"We can't trust this guy," Aidan said.

"Seagull's right," Jando said and Aidan punched his shoulder.

"Some of my colleagues would prefer to blow you and the mill up now and dig Heather out of the rubble. Dead or alive, either is fine with them," the man said.

"He's bluffing," Lydia said. "Check out Emeryl. He looks pretty upset about the RPG." She glanced at Heather. "I don't think they want her dead. They won't blow up the mill if we refuse."

At Emeryl's direction, one of the people below loaded another RPG and pointed it directly at Sylvia. "You willing to bet on that?" the agent asked.

Emeryl gave the go-ahead, and the RPG-holder lifted her weapon and pulled the trigger. The shot hit the roof, knocking out a gap, and the building rumbled. Part of the roof crumbled onto the floor and the mill creaked. "Next one will take out the rest of the wall," Emeryl said.

Sylvia sighed and banged her head on the catwalk's rail. "All we have to do is buy some more time. Drag out the negotiation. Any little bit helps," she said. She poked her face out to the man. "Alright. But send in Mark."

"I'm the duly designated negotiator here," he said. "I'm afraid it's me, period."

After a long moment of deliberation, Sylvia said, "Come in unarmed." The four of them waited for him with a pair of guards at the front door. As he entered, the sun disappeared behind a cloud, shrouding the mill in shadow, and unease rushed through Lydia's veins.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Roy," he said.

Heather yelled slurred warnings at them. She exhaled her toxins and urged Lydia to remove her filter to hear her clearly. At Sylvia's approval, she did. "Keep him away from the windows!" Heather blurted out.

"Nice to see you, too, Heather," Roy said. He kept his hands in the air, spinning and allowing a guard to pat him down for weapons. Once deemed clean, he headed for a window and wiped some of the grime off. "This place is pretty filthy. The germs in here are a nightmare."

"Get away from there," Sylvia said, training her pistol at his forehead. He obliged. "Why does Whyte want Heather?"

"My employers have their own reasons. Suffice to say that they want her. So, are you going to hand her over?"

Heather scooted herself onto her feet against the beam and whispered to Sylvia, "Don't trust him. Shoot him now." Sylvia shushed her.

"Do that and all that will be left of you is rubble," Roy said. "Come now, let's be reasonable here."

"He can blind you," Heather said, her mind clearing. "Uses the sunlight to blind people. As soon as the sun comes out, he will."

He smiled. "I'm here to find a peaceful solution." Then he swept his hands at the rifles pointing at him from the catwalk. "I think I'm sufficiently covered, wouldn't you say?"

"Don't trust him," Heather said in Sylvia's ear. "Shoot him."

Grimacing, Sylvia's pistol rattled, and Lydia saw the faint trail hovering between her cheek and Heather's lips. Without waiting, the girl snatched Heather and strapped the filter to her mouth, then shoved her to the ground, silencing her furious protests. Sylvia thanked her. "Get her out of her," she said. Lydia dragged Heather to one of the guards, and he held his gun to her head.

"Do you really want to hold onto someone like that?" Roy said. "She'll manipulate anyone. Believe me, she'll kill you as quickly as she would me if it benefited her." He approached Sylvia, and the guards steadied their weapons. "Let us take her off your hands. You won't have to worry about her, and I guarantee she won't cause any more trouble. She'll receive justice, mark my words." He opened his arms. "Now, come on. That's a good deal. We'll take her, no muss, no fuss."

"Sorry, but Heather is not leaving our custody," Sylvia said.

"You're honestly going to risk your life and everyone else here for her?" he asked. "You're protecting a murderer." He turned to Lydia as well. "You two, of all people, should appreciate my proposition for justice."

Lydia looked at Heather. Although the offer was definitely against the BEP Division's training, and they would indirectly be killing her no matter any excuses they told themselves, that didn't stop Lydia from entertaining it for a few brief seconds. Ridding herself of dealing with Heather for any longer and saving all of their skins was enticing. Plus, the idea of Heather getting her dues from someone who scared her wasn't half bad either. Lydia's long look perturbed Heather, who stared anxiously as if she thought the other girl might hand her over.

When Lydia faced Roy, she shook her head. "Tempting, but Sylvia gave you our answer."

"Don't you want a punishment worse than jail?" Roy asked. "Don't you want her to face justice? I can't think of anything worse than my employer's punishments."

"I want justice, sure," she said. "For your group and your employer."

The sun peeked out from the clouds and Roy sighed, defeated. "I suppose there's no changing your mind then?"

"No," Sylvia said. "If I were you, I'd clear out of here. Backup will be arriving soon."

"Oh, they won't find anything by then," Roy said, turning to leave, his head hanging low.

"Is that a threat?"

"I'm only telling you what my partners will do. You'll be dead and we'll be long gone before the FBI comes. Pity to return to the bloodshed. I gave you a chance. Things seemed promising." He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked his feet. "I really wanted to avoid this. Pity."

He stopped under a portion of the catwalk near a window, where sunlight streamed in. "Hmm, I think I dropped something on my way in." Then he patted his pockets and crouched, searching in front of the window. "Anyone got a light?"

Heather's cries of "No!" distracted Lydia. The woman squeezed her eyes shut.

Too late Lydia realized what was about to happen. "Close your eyes!"

"Oh, never mind," Roy said, spinning around. His cheeks and neck lit up as if he'd swallowed a small sun and it had lodged in his throat. "I have my own." Lydia covered her face, and the next thing she knew, the whole mill was blanketed in solid white light.
Chapter 15- Wheeling and Dealing

A hand yanked Lydia by the scruff of her shirt. "Get down!" Aidan yelled. He pulled her behind a staircase. As the bright flash faded, Sylvia's and Jando's watery shapes joined them. Gunfire echoed ahead and several people cried in pain. By the time Lydia regained her sight, two guards were draped on the catwalk and another lay against the door, dead. The mercenaries sprang over their own fallen comrades blocking the door. Sylvia shot one in the throat and he joined the pile.

"Fall back to the other door!" Sylvia ordered.

The four remaining guards ran, firing behind them. A great weight thumped the front wall, and Lydia froze as a ball of dirt and gravel the size of her head punched through the door. A hulking creature covered from head to toe in packed earth clumps and rock squeezed through the entrance, shedding some of the weight to fit. It stood a couple of feet taller than her, and all of the bullets shot at it buried surface deep into its skin. Where the head should be, hazel eyes stared out at her from pits dug in a lumpy head-shaped rock. It had to be one of the BEPs.

The dirt balls on the rock BEP's limbs formed into hands, and one stretched at the ground outside. Summoned to its hands, dirt flew through the air and built itself into a great mound of earth. The rock BEP lobbed it at Lydia. She snapped out of her stupor and dashed aside. Behind her, Sylvia urged her on. "Let's go! We need you!" The woman grabbed Heather and Lydia followed.

Behind them, bullets, fire, and electricity chomped at their heels. "Aim to wound!" Roy shouted, but nobody listened as several bullets almost caught Lydia's head. She zig-zagged around the catwalk support beams, not daring to look at their pursuers. She reached the machine blocking the door and rammed it with her shoulder, pushing it a few feet. That wasn't enough for anyone to slip through.

Fire seared the top of the machine. Lydia saw the smoky BEP reaching out for her and the fire BEP behind him. She sprinted up the stairs with Sylvia, Jando, Aidan, and Heather, regrouping with the remaining guards. Jando waited at the top as the mercenaries climbed. He grasped the rails of the staircase, causing it to disappear when the first mercenary was a couple of steps from the top.

The mercenaries stumbled, stepping side to side, unsure where to put their feet. Jando kicked the closest one down into the others. They tumbled off the stairs, collapsing in a heap. Two others approached, firing at Jando while the rock BEP lumbered up the stairs. He ducked and the staircase came into view, allowing the mercenaries to climb it.

Lydia ripped the staircase off the catwalk and flung it and the mercenaries into the wall. The stairs pinned a mercenary underneath by his leg and the rock BEP collided headfirst into a machine, tearing it off its hinges, and fell unconscious on top of the staircase. Lydia and Jando fled and followed their group. They ran down the catwalk to the windows on the wall facing the sloping hill above them.

"We'll have to jump!" Sylvia said. She shot out a pair of windows ahead for them to jump out of.

"Of course we will," Aidan said.

"What are you worried about?" Jando said, crouching as Sylvia fired over his head and took down two mercenaries. "You can fly! We can't!"

"Don't worry," Aidan said. "I'm sure the ground won't ruin your delicate features."

Emeryl shot Sylvia in the arm and she hissed, clutching the wound. She returned fire and missed him, but he caught her hip and she fell to her knees. The fire BEP burned through the catwalk's support beams and the section in front of them. The catwalk they stood on toppled sideways and down. Lydia, Aidan, and Heather tumbled forward to the first floor while everyone else scrambled to a stable part. "Lydia! Aidan!" Jando shouted.

Lydia and Aidan fell on top of Heather behind the generator. Gunfire pounded their cover, and Lydia sat with her back to the generator. Heather's filter had fallen off, and she hid with the other two. She held her cuffs out to Lydia. "Free me," she said.

"What?"

"Free me. I can help you." Lydia looked unsure. "They're trying to kill me, too. Remember? I don't want to die today, so free me." The mercenaries came closer, and the gunfire became more intense. Lydia could hardly think, weighing her options very quickly.

She grabbed Heather's cuffs and ripped the chains apart. "You do anything—"

"Or try running. Yeah, yeah, I got it," she said. She pressed herself flat against the generator as a mercenary approached. "Get on the other side," she whispered. Lydia and Aidan did as she told them. Two mercenaries crept to their end.

Heather jumped out and, avoiding the shooting that was focused on her, pulled her mercenary behind the generator. She wrapped one arm around the mercenary's neck and the other around his head. She squeezed and twisted, and a sickening ker-rack made him instantly limp.

Meanwhile, Lydia and Aidan grabbed the two on their side. She threw hers into the generator and kneed her gut. The mercenary gasped and swung at air. Lydia gave a one-two punch that floored her.

Aidan's mercenary elbowed his cheek. He stomped the mercenary's foot and kicked him in the stomach. Then Aidan aimed an uppercut at his chin, and his mercenary collapsed onto Lydia's opponent.

"You all right?" Lydia asked.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his face. "I'm used to it."

Heather picked up one of the mercenary's rifles and checked the ammo. Then she put a round into each of the living mercenaries' heads, startling Lydia. "What?" she asked, catching Lydia's disapproving glance.

"They were unconscious."

"And if they'd woken up, they would've come after us again," she said. "I told you. The only way to stop Whyte and his people is to kill them."

"Or tie them up if we can," Lydia said, picking up one of the broken support beams and bending it into a closed circle as an example.

Heather shrugged. "What's done is done. Either of you know how to use a gun?" They shook their heads and she groaned. "Of course you wouldn't." They peered out and a few of the BEPs approached them. "Oliver, Lionel, and Anton," she said, naming them in turn.

"Oh, Heather!" Oliver called, a column of flame blowing past the generator. "Come out, come out wherever you are! I'm dying to meet your new friends."

"What's the plan?" Aidan asked.

Heather pointed out Lionel. "We need to take care of him first."

"How?"

"Follow me and do exactly as I say and do," Heather said. The three ran to a saw machine while Heather fired at the other BEPs. Oliver scorched their cover and Lionel chased them. They continued running, staying a step ahead of Oliver's flames. Suddenly, Heather changed direction and ran straight toward him, staying low and shooting him in the leg and hip. Oliver fell out of the way and waved his flames around, trying to catch them.

"Drop!" Heather hissed. They landed on their stomachs and the fire passed them, striking Lionel in the stomach and cutting him in half. He screamed and cursed Oliver's name, and his halves quickly escaped, rushing too close to a ventilation fan. The suction dragged him in, kicking and fighting.

"Worked better than I thought," Heather said. "That'll keep him busy for a bit."

Anton stepped up, ripping bolts of electricity from the generator and machines around him, while Oliver cheered him on. "Yeah, Ant! You con-du-it!" As soon as the electricity neared Anton's hands, he repelled the crackling bolts at the three.

Lydia and the others rolled out of the way and stood. The electricity exploded in sparky blasts on the floor. One hit Heather's rifle and she dropped it. Anton grinned and managed to hit Aidan in the leg as well. "Agh!" he said, his balance faltering. Another came for his chest and Lydia rushed him out of the way. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She helped him up and they followed Heather.

"He grounded you good!" Oliver called. Electricity arced through the air all around them at blinding speeds. Some Lydia saw right away and slipped by them or squeezed between line rows of white beams. But she didn't know how to avoid them all. A few zapped her arms, crackling up her braces and down her back, and she dodged faster and ran like mad, hoping the rest would miss.

"Whoo! Got a charge out of that!" Oliver said, spurting flames in between hissing and scrunching his face in pain. "Better volt out of here!"

"Shut up!" Heather said. Then she looked at the others. "Spread out! Hit him from all sides!" They formed a circle around Anton, and he continued tossing out bolts. Lydia kept her head low and struck his side. He growled and hit her back with a blast. Lydia's spine tingled before a wave of pain set in. She rolled behind a machine and rested for a moment, letting the pain subside before rejoining the fight.

"He's wearing himself out," Heather said, deftly slipping through several arcs. Anton breathed heavily and sweat drenched his forehead, but he refused to slow down. Heather caught Lydia's eye. "Distract him," she said as she passed her. "I'll get him."

"Right." The girl stood in front of Anton and smirked, her back to the generator. "Come on, Anton. Is that the best you got?"

"Not even close," he said, turning to the generator and concentrating. Lydia eyed it, the fizzling sparks already nipping at her hair and the whole generator shaking. Lights above flickered on and off and machines nearby whined, slowing or powering down. Profuse sweat poured from his brow and he bit his teeth hard. "You're in for a surprise."

"No, come on, man," Oliver said. "You're in for a shock. Get it right."

"Fine, shock." Anton quickly flung a bolt at Heather, who had snuck up behind him. The shot hit her chest off center and she fell. "Prepare to fry, little girl." He yanked his hand backward in a fist and a large wad of electricity materialized from the generator, zooming straight at Lydia. She leapt to the side, the electricity catching strands of her hair and zapping small spots on her scalp.

Anton held his palm out, slowing the ball and readjusting his aim. "Lydia!" Aidan pumped his legs and ran to her.

Suddenly, Heather jumped to her feet and shoved Anton headfirst into the electric ball. His shrieks mixed with the buzzing crackles, and his face disappeared into the blue-white center. As the electricity faded, he collapsed onto his knees, and then lay flat. His body sizzled, and smoke wafted through the air from his head. From the small breaks in the swirling smoke, they caught snatches of the damage. His already-dark skin had blackened to charcoal and the smell—Lydia gagged and turned away, anywhere to get away from the stink of his burnt skin. She even stuck her nose next to the exhaust of one machine to suppress the stench.

"You were wrong, Oliver," Heather said, retrieving her rifle and pointing it at him.

"Guess we were the ones who got shocked," he said. He raised himself onto his hands and knees. "Very illuminating."

"Enough. One more crack and I'll put a bullet in both eyes. Stay down if you know what's good for you."

"I'd start running if you know what's good for you," he said. Gunshots rang out and Heather fired back at several mercenaries approaching them. Up top, Sylvia, Jando, and the guards were beaten back by Roy and several others.

"Suppressing fire!" Roy ordered and chopped his hand forward. They all moved closer, with him leading the pack. He sprang over a box, tackling a guard, but Sylvia shot at him, breaking up the fight. He leapt back into cover as the mercenaries fired, leaving both sides in a temporary stalemate.

"We got to get up there," Lydia said. She grabbed Heather and flung her to the catwalk, still tingling from the bolts and aiming a little too high. The woman flew through the smashed foreman's office window. "Crap! Sorry!" Aidan lifted her from behind and carried her to the fight while Oliver tried to burn them.

Once on the catwalk, they barreled through the mercenaries and reached Sylvia. As they urged everyone to leave, more mercenaries joined the fray, and Lydia and Aidan took cover. They were cornered!

* * *

During the madness, Mark hid himself from the fighting, adopting a wait-and-see tactic. He caught glimpses of Heather, but she disappeared before he could follow her. From the abandoned foreman's office, he had a good view of the battle and figured he could find her soon enough.

Outside the door, Emeryl lined up Jando in his sights. Mark couldn't let Emeryl find him or stop him from reaching Heather. Flattening himself on the floor, Mark kicked the door open. The force of this bashed Emeryl off the catwalk and on top of a conveyor belt that carried him outside. His phone dropped onto the catwalk. Mark shut the door and stayed down.

A body crashed through the few pieces of glass still forming a window and Mark scurried away. But when he recognized the body, he crawled over to it. "Heather?" he asked, rousing her with a shake. She lifted her head, squinting at him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. He'd finally found her! This was a dream. A dream too good to be true. He would end the hug and realize that it was some woman he mistook for Heather, and that the real Heather was still lost amid the battle.

But when she talked, that notion vanished. "Not so tight. I think I got a piece of glass in my side." She pried his arms off and pulled a shard out of her ribs, crimson already staining her white jumpsuit. She breathed easier and relaxed for a moment.

"It's you," he said.

"It's me."

He fingered the white strands in her hair. "What happened?"

"It's my natural color." She inhaled deep, pressing on the wound, and then slapped him across his head. "What did I tell you before I left? 'Don't join Whyte.' Ow." She winced and tried to staunch the fresh flow of blood from her wound at her movement.

"I didn't have a choice," Mark said. "By the time your gas wore off, Oliver and Roy were there."

"Why didn't you just go somewhere else? Go back home or to a relative's?"

"Because I wanted to go with you." Her face softened and she stared at him. "I told you that."

She leaned forward, mashing her forehead in his cheek and grunting. "Mark, I," she started and gave up. "Listen, you need to get out of here. Now. Leave and go off the grid, far away from Whyte."

"Not without you," he said, bending lower as gunfire closed in.

"Whyte is going to come after me with everything he has," Heather said. "You'll be caught in the crossfire. He means to kill me."

"Not right away," a mercenary at the door said, waving Emeryl's phone and holding them at gunpoint, the barrel aimed at Heather's back. He dialed Whyte's number. "And I'm sure whatever he has in store for you, Mark can join in."

With amazing speed, Heather snapped around and stomped his shin, breaking it. Mark blocked her, taking several shots that rebounded off his chest and ripped the rifle from the mercenary, throwing it to Heather. She shot the mercenary dead. "Don't plan on it," she said. The phone continued to ring and she almost shot it as well.

"Hello?" Whyte said on the other line. Heather and Mark froze. "Hello, Emeryl? Do you have Heather?"

Picking up the phone, Heather sat next to the entrance and put him on speaker. "Not yet."

"Heather, don't tell me you killed Emeryl. I just made some improvements to him."

She looked at Mark and he shook his head. "No, he's still alive and kicking somewhere. Can't say the same for all your people."

"You could make this easy on yourself and give up."

"No, I think I'm doing pretty well."

"I will find you," he said. "No matter where you go, I will find you eventually, even if I have to come for you myself."

Heather gripped the phone harder. "I'd like to see you try. Back off and no more of your people have to die."

"Afraid I can't do that, Heather. Can't have you spilling any more secrets of mine."

"Then how about I give you something in exchange to stop?"

"What could you possibly offer me?" he asked.

She paused. "The BEP Division's location."

Mark's eyes widened. "Interesting," Whyte said. "But you know, I already have someone inside and, unlike you, they can move about freely."

"Yet you still don't know where they're located, do you?" Heather said.

"No," he said, "but it's only a matter of time."

"They don't have my persuasion. A little gas here, some sweet words to a guard there, and I could find out more."

He paused. "Perhaps."

Heather raised her head above the window. "What about something else then? I can get you some of Lydia's blood. I have a hunch you haven't cracked Rooke's strength and invulnerability formula." She poked the dead mercenary with her rifle. "Since you haven't upgraded your people, I'm thinking you must need more of her blood to figure it out."

"Very perceptive of you," Whyte said. "But my people are there. I'm sure Lydia will leave some blood behind."

"Not from where I'm standing," Heather lied. Mark looked through the window. Lydia and the others were pushed back into the far corner of the catwalk, hiding behind pipes and tall machines that touched the ceiling. They held their own against the onslaught, but from where Mark stood, the BEP Division's forces were barely hanging on. Mercenaries scrambled up the stairs, replacing their dead members. "They've already killed Anton and plenty of Emeryl's group. Not to mention taken down Oliver and Lionel. And their backup will be here soon. They won't get the blood in time." She crouched as a stray bullet ricocheted overhead. "And don't tell me your person inside can take care of it. How long have they been there?" He grumbled under his breath. "I could have it done faster."

"How?"

"I convinced the BEP Division to let Lydia interrogate me. Shouldn't be hard to get some and leave it someplace for your pet."

"So just to be clear, you'll offer me up the BEP Division's location and Lydia's blood for me to leave you alone?" Whyte asked.

"No," she said. "One or the other. You pick."

"Hm," he said. "What if I offer you something for both and for you to rejoin me?"

"You could never offer me anything for that."

"Even a cure?"

Her jaw dropped. "You're lying."

"No, no. I knew Rooke wasn't working on one, so I took the task upon myself." Heather cradled the phone with both hands, hanging onto every word. "I finally created a mixture that can cure you."

"And it would completely remove everything?" she asked, her fingers tracing the small lump in her throat. "Sounds like a bluff."

"Believe whatever you want. I have the formula right here, waiting to be cooked up at any time."

"Then if I took the cure, why would you still want me to rejoin you?" she asked.

"You're very resourceful and a good fighter. I can use you. What do you say?"

"I'm not rejoining you," Heather said. "But I will give you both for the cure, and if you free me when you attack the BEP Division and leave me alone. Might even help you kill a few people while you're there." She eyed Mark and added, "And let Mark go, too."

"Mark? Why?"

"Even if you back off, the government won't. If I get caught again, he's my bargaining chip."

"Get a little leniency on your sentence?"

"Right. You won't have to worry about me spilling anything else on you then. Besides, Mark's a horrible fighter, and his power isn't really worth much if you'll have an army of strong, indestructible mercenaries. Plus, you don't want to rely on him for missions. Trust me. I wouldn't." She waited and he murmured to himself, pondering the deal. Mark was shocked and hurt by her words, but when he looked into Heather's eyes, he realized her true intentions. "Come on, you don't need him."

"Hey!" Mark whispered.

She shushed him and turned back to the phone. "Do we have a deal?"

"You drive a hard bargain," Whyte said. "All right, we have a deal. You better hold up your end."

"I will," Heather said. "As long as you do."

"Trust me," he said.

"Tell your people to attack the reinforcements and keep them from joining up with Sylvia. I need her to take me back to the BEP Division, not to continue on to the FBI."

"Okay. I'll be in touch," he said and hung up.

"Are you crazy?" Mark hissed, dragging himself to her. "You're seriously going to trust him?"

"Of course not," she said.

"Then come with me," he said. "We can escape while they fight, hide out somewhere, and then leave the country."

"I can't," she said. "Sooner or later, Whyte will catch up. And if there is some chance that he does have a cure," she said with a sigh, "I have to take it. If anyone has the resources and people to create a cure, it would be Whyte. Certainly not the BEP Division," she said as an aside, cutting her eyes to the battle. "Yonkers and Sullivan are brilliant. Not quite at Rooke's level, but with Whyte's backing, maybe they could..." she mumbled to herself.

"Heather, he's lying. I haven't heard anything about a cure," he said. "Come with—"

"Mark, I'm tired of running, tired of living with this death clock," she pointed at her scarf, "and tired of living in fear from this man. This has to stop. All of it, one way or another. This may be my only chance to cure myself and get close enough to end him."

"Don't do this," he said, pleading with her.

"Sorry. I have to."

His spirits sank, his muscles crumbling to ash and unable to hold him up. His blood seemed to slow to a stop, and the world collapsed around him. What was he supposed to do? A mercenary screamed outside, followed by a gunshot, and the voice was silenced. Mark looked up at her. "Then I'll help you. I'm sick of being scared, too."

"No," she said.

"Yes. I can feed you information about Whyte. Try to find out where his base is."

"No, it's too dangerous. Unless you happen to know who Whyte's inside person is in the BEP Division, no."

He nodded. "I don't know who it is exactly, but they did tell us about some BEP being released. I was supposed to help 'recruit' him. Some really good swimmer from Vermont. So I guess he or she has access to that stuff."

"That's more than enough to help me," she said. "Really, knowing that, I'll be all right in the BEP Division's place. You need to get out of here and away from Whyte before you get killed."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about me. I'm invincible, remember?" He reached out and covered her hand, patting it. "I'm not leaving without you. Not until this is over."

For the first time, Heather broke into a true, genuine smile. She caressed his cheek and he leaned into it. "Thank you for the offer." A mercenary busted through the door. "But no. Fight me."

Mark stared at her. "What?"

"Fight me!" The mercenary turned to them and Heather lifted Mark to his feet. She punched his gut and swung him in a circle, throwing him out the office window. Mark plummeted to the first floor, landing flat on his back on the concrete. Above, Heather waved her hand, urging him to run. Then she turned and fired on the mercenary.

Mark stood, a little dizzy from the fall, but unhurt as always, and searched for the nearest staircase. A hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed. "There you are!" Oliver said, dragging his injured leg. A mercenary supported him on one side. "We need to get outside. New orders. Got to hit the FBI." He draped his other arm around Mark, and the boy was pressed into helping him outside.

He looked back at the office. Stay safe, Heather.

* * *

Lydia crouched behind a machine. The bullets struck the metal by her ear, dampening her hearing the more the mercenaries fired. Aidan tapped her leg and pointed at the mercenaries, yelling at her. She shook her head and he pulled her closer, shouting in her ear. "I think they're retreating!"

She peered out for a moment. He was right. Some were climbing down the catwalk and running outside. The backup must have arrived. Up ahead, Sylvia signaled to the few remaining guards to move closer. They did so while Jando kept them invisible, hopping back and forth as the guns focused on him. Lydia and Aidan moved forward as well, ducking behind a crate.

"What now?" Lydia yelled. One of the BEPs still led four mercenaries on the catwalk, all of whom were hidden behind beams and machines.

Ahead, Heather burst out of the foreman's office, landing behind the attackers, with a rifle in her hand. She rushed one mercenary, leaned in close to her face, and breathed a spurt of black, deadly toxin into her nose and mouth. The mercenary dropped her gun and Heather picked it up, firing both rifles at the other enemies. Caught in the middle, two more mercenaries fell, and Sylvia hit the last with a barrage of bullets.

The mercenary BEP leader unloaded her rifle on Heather, missed, and lunged at her. Heather dropped her guns and kicked the BEP off and over the railing, and she headed straight for an open machine with rows of running saws. Lydia jumped forward and caught the BEP, helping her hang onto the railing.

"No!" Heather said as Aidan helped Lydia. "Let her drop!"

"And kill another one?" Lydia said.

"You don't understand!" As Lydia and Aidan lifted up the BEP, the BEP produced a pistol from behind her back. She was close enough to shoot them point-blank. Her aim drifted to Aidan. Lydia let go, tackled him to the ground, and they dropped the woman. She fell into the saws, and the jagged teeth lopped off her head and one hand, throwing them out of the machine and to the ground. The blades gobbled her body and Lydia turned away.

Surprisingly, a string of curses flew up at Heather. Lydia looked back, and the hand spun the head around to face them. Then it walked off, grabbing the body parts as the machine spat them out. "I will throw you in here, Heather!"

"Don't go to pieces because you lost, Val," she said, chuckling. Heather gritted her teeth, holding her ribs with one hand and picking up a rifle with the other. She rested on the railing and aimed the gun at Valerie's head, firing. The hand came back with its twin and dragged Valerie out of the way. "Told you to let her drop," she said to Lydia.

"How was I to know she would do that?"

Sylvia and the guards came out of hiding. She was looking rather pale, holding her hip as blood poured down her arm. "Who let you loose?" she asked Heather. Her eyes snapped to the broken chains and she frowned at Lydia.

"We needed her help," Lydia said.

"That's right," Aidan agreed. It was only then that Lydia realized that she was on top of him, pressed awfully close against him. They stood and brushed themselves off. "Thanks," he said, clearing his throat. She nodded.

Sylvia's phone rang. "Hello? Rogers? Yeah, yeah. Okay, thanks." She turned to the guards. "Get to the transports. Rogers will cover us. We need to get back to the Cave this instant. We can't risk them getting Heather." The guards led the group downstairs, running past charred bodies of mercenaries, as if they had been recently burned. One guard held a pistol to Heather's shoulder and dragged her as Jando supported Sylvia, who grabbed the discarded filter along the way.

However, a couple of mercenaries were posted by the front door, ducking behind the smoldering pile that used to be their dead. They fired on the group and everyone took cover. "Of course it wouldn't be that easy," Aidan said.

"I got an idea," Lydia said. She sat down in a narrow space between a saw machine and a metal bin separated by a short conveyor belt and close to the door. She lifted her legs, pressing them against the bin. The bolts and screws holding it in place popped out. With a mighty burst, she pushed it for all its worth and chased after it. The bin rammed into the entrance and crashed through, creating a wider opening and bowling over the mercenaries.

"Go!" Lydia said.

Jando whispered to Aidan, and the latter picked him up and flew him to the door as the two mercenaries outside rose. "Look alive!" Jando said.

"Bombs away!" Aidan dropped Jando onto one of the mercenaries, and he speared the second in the chest hard with his head. Together, they punched and elbowed the mercenaries into submission. Aidan rolled off his, holding his own noggin. "Ow. That hurt a lot more than I thought it would."

"Looked kind of cool though," Jando said. "Or as cool as you can be anyway."

Except for the destroyed vehicles, the mercenaries and BEPs had driven the working Humvees and APC out to the road, meeting the reinforcements head-on. A third mercenary left behind near the wrecked APC loaded an RPG. He fired at one of the transports, destroying it in a large explosion. The blast knocked everyone off their feet. He prepared to fire another round, but Sylvia and the guards shot him. He cried and his aim went too high, hitting the trees. One treetop burst into fire and wood and rained down on them.

The mercenary weakly lifted a pistol, but Sylvia unloaded her clip into him. Then she ordered everyone into the last transport. "Go, go, go!" Two of the guards climbed into the front, with everyone else in the rear. As best she could, Lydia tried to close up the crawlspace she had created earlier, and the transport rumbled down the dirt path, veering sharply onto the road and toward the Cave.

Sylvia's phone rang. "Hello?" she answered. "Agent Rogers?" She set the phone on speaker. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. We got them outnumbered easily. Looks like we got here just in time." Gunfire crackled in the background.

"Yeah, you did."

"How many do you have left?" he asked.

"Only three guards, myself, Heather, Lydia, Aidan, and Jando," she said, grimacing.

"Sorry." The gunfire sounded closer now and Rogers yelled at some of his people. "We'll hold them off. Get back to the Cave quick."

"We will," she said. "Thank you." The call ended and she turned to Heather, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from one of the guards.

"Is that really necessary?" Heather asked. "I helped you."

Sylvia stared at her for a long moment. "Did you?"

Frowning, Heather said, "They wanted to kill me, too."

"Maybe. Although it's funny how they found us in the first place," she said. She checked Heather, patting her down for any hidden objects. "Was she checked before we left?" she asked a guard. He nodded. Yanking Heather forward, Sylvia slapped on the handcuffs and filter and then collapsed into a seat and phoned Arthur. "We ran into some trouble. We're coming back to the Cave. Was Heather's cell already cleaned?...It was? Well, can you search it? Very thoroughly? I'll explain when we arrive."
Chapter 16- Traitor in the Midst

Mark took another bullet for a mercenary as he dragged an injured comrade to the APC nearby. A little to the left, he thought, itching to step aside and no longer act as a shield. An officer who dared to move forward fell to Emeryl's fire. As the officer lifted his head, Sheila hurled a pound of dirt onto him, crushing his skull.

"How much longer?" Emeryl asked. They had been trading fire with the FBI and the local police for what felt like hours. The mercenaries slowly led them farther away from the direction of the BEP Division headquarters. The Humvees and APC were out of ammo, so the mercenaries relied only on small arms. The forest and police cars burned in the middle of the battlefield, the flames licking at the combatants and forming an impromptu blockade between the sides.

"They'll be back at their base soon," Roy said from the APC. "That's what Whyte said." He patched a mercenary's gun wound and turned to Oliver. "How's Val coming?"

"Can't say for sure," he said. He clutched his wounds, staunching some blood spilling onto the road. He looked pale but in good spirits as he dug through Valerie's body parts scattered at his feet.

"Why is the blind guy helping me again?" Valerie asked.

"Because all the king's horses and all the king's men are busy," Oliver said, handing her a finger, which she promptly used to throw an obscene gesture at him. "Wrong finger."

She had rebuilt her torso and an arm. She searched the pile, muttering and growing frustrated, like a child with building blocks. "Just saw that toe a minute ago."

Lionel had emerged a jumbled mess from the fans. After reforming, he snuck into the enemy ranks, choking and killing people here and there. Ahead, he slipped down the throats of three officers in a row, ending their lives instantly.

"Lionel!" Roy called him over as he tended to the mercenary. "Tone it down. We're supposed to stall them, not kill them all. You're going to drive them off." Lionel scowled, but softened his attacks.

As Mark scanned the surrounding forest for a good path to bolt to, Roy's phone rang. "Hello?" he answered. "Finally!" He yelled for everyone to fall back. "Get in the vehicles! We're moving out!"

"Good," Emeryl said. He stood and provided covering fire for his people as they ran.

"Oliver!" Roy lobbed his cell phone. Valerie caught it and handed it to him.

"Yeah?" Oliver asked. "Don't worry. I have been. I will, I will." He stood and tossed the phone back. "Nag, nag, nag," he said, aiming his fire toward the slain Overwatch members and police and burning them to a crisp.

Mark lingered as people rushed by and started to back into the forest. Unfortunately, Oliver scooped up all of Valerie into a cardboard box and hustled to a Humvee, pushing Mark along. He shoved the boy in and tossed Valerie into the backseat of the Humvee. "Watch it, you lummox!" she said. "You better have gotten all of me!" Sheila took the wheel, shedding her rock skin as she jumped in. The tires squealed, and they left their dead members and the FBI's forces behind them.

Mark hardly twitched at the gunshots pinging off their shell. Nor did he really acknowledge Roy when he congratulated everyone for "doing your best, given the circumstances." He had to learn where Whyte's base was located.

* * *

Once at the Cave, Sylvia rushed Heather past Arthur, Barrett, and the waiting security. Lydia and the others followed the march up to the holding cells, passing Gary and a security guard coming from the hall to the cells. "I know I had that discharge paper before I came here," he said, talking to the guard. "Did Morella and the other guard find it while cleaning? Maybe they left it at your desk?" Then he gawked at the prisoner. "She's back?"

Sylvia ignored him. She grabbed the guard's keys, opened Heather's cell door, threw Heather hard into the cell, and slammed the door shut, and then hit it for good measure. "Sylvia," Arthur said, prying her fist off the metal. She resisted and he grabbed harder as the rest of his entourage caught up to them. "Sylvia, let Dr. Barrett check you out."

She shrugged off Barrett's attempts to examine her wounds. "Did Rogers capture any of them?" she asked.

"No," he said. "He called a while ago. They managed to beat them back though."

"Please tell me you found something in her cell then," she said. "How did she do it?"

"Sylvia, you need to see Dr. Barrett. She'll want to look at your arm and hip."

Sylvia slapped Barrett's hands away. "Stop it!"

"You slap my hands away one more time and I'll slap your eyeballs out of your head!" Barrett snapped. "Shut up and let me examine these!" Sylvia was startled, as was everyone else. Barrett took advantage of Sylvia's dumbfounded silence and checked her hip. "It's nasty. Shouldn't be hard to remove though. But the arm is worse. Looks pretty deep in there. I need you to come with me."

However, Sylvia had recovered by then. "I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers. Did you find anything? How is she always one step ahead of us?" She glared at the small window. Heather stood and faced them, her expression calm and placid. "There's no way she could've known."

"We didn't find anything in her cell," Arthur said. "Morella and the guards searched it top to bottom and I helped check, too. But there was nothing."

"Then how did she know?" Sylvia asked.

"Perhaps," Heather said, "because you're focusing on the wrong person. I'm not one step ahead of you." Everyone exchanged looks with one another. "Come in after you get that arm looked at and I'll explain. Only Arthur, Sylvia, and Lydia. Send everyone else away and turn the cameras off."

Sylvia mouthed, "No," to Arthur, but he shook his head, turning so Heather couldn't see him.

"What other choice do we have? There are no leads," he whispered. "We'll be all right."

Barrett whisked Sylvia away for a few hours while a nurse assisted with Heather's gash in her ribs. After Heather was patched up and in a new jumpsuit, Arthur shooed the guards, Jando, and Aidan out into the Center's main hall, locked the janitor closet, and shut down the cameras. Only Arthur and Lydia remained at the security guard desk, neither really talking and Lydia recuperating from the mill after a nurse deemed her fine physically. However, it had been a while since she had been in a fight so intense. Her nerves were shaky, and her hands wouldn't stop forming fists.

Sylvia returned a few hours later, drowsy and drugged, with her arm in a cast supported in a sling and thick bandages on her hip. "Barrett Juice should have me healed in three weeks, give or take a few days."

"Should you be on your feet?" Lydia asked, wondering if she should be prepared if Sylvia fell.

"Barrett said I should stay off my feet as much as possible."

A long silence passed between them as she and Lydia locked eyes, Sylvia's seeming to ask, "What?" Arthur clapped, breaking the moment. "Shall we?" he said.

They entered the cell and Sylvia eased into a chair, wincing and favoring her hip. Heather sat on her bed and Sylvia leaned forward in her chair, pursing her lips. "All right. Talk."

"Whyte is the one who tracked us," Heather said. "I told you he'd come for me."

"That's impossible," Sylvia said. "We only finalized the plan and route this morning to prevent that. The transports were checked before we left. No trackers or anything suspicious on them."

"There are other ways," Heather said, a hint in her words.

"The pill," Lydia said, catching on. "The one we used to keep track of Heather."

"Bingo. We have a winner."

"Wait a minute," Arthur said. "The pill is our own creation."

"Based on Rooke's design. Don't you think he made some for Whyte?" Heather asked. "It would be easy to create an exact replica of your equipment since he knows the core design. And I'm willing to bet he did just that."

"But how could he get an exact copy?"

"How indeed?" Heather folded her hands. "You've had a leak in your little organization for quite a while, Arthur. Who created the tracker?"

"Barrett and Brentle, right?" Lydia said.

"It's not Barrett," Arthur said flatly. Heather raised an eyebrow.

"And why would Brentle do it?" Lydia asked. "It doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps it's someone else. It could be anyone," Heather said.

"Then why even trust us and tell us this?" Lydia said.

"Because I know it's not any of you," she said. "Arthur wouldn't betray a cushy position like his, and he lives and breathes the BEP Division. Sylvia is dedicated to the cause to a fault." The two frowned at her descriptions. "And you have every reason to see Whyte fall. Why would you help him? No, it's someone else."

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "How do you know this? Did you know about this person already?" Heather sighed and nodded. Sylvia rose and her whole body clenched rigidly tight. But she restrained herself and shoved her finger in Heather's face. "Eleven people are dead because of you!"

"Good people," Arthur said, agreeing.

"If I told you about this person beforehand, all that would've done is start a witch hunt. The mole would get spooked, and then they off me and go to ground. You'd be left without a case or any information," Heather said. "Besides, last time I told you anything, you didn't believe me." She turned pointedly to Sylvia.

"You—" she started to rise.

"Look, I didn't even know if the person was still here, all right? But I confirmed it."

"How?" Arthur asked.

"When you threw me into the office," she said to Lydia, "I ran into Mark. As well as some glass." She lifted her arm to show her the lump of bandages underneath her jumpsuit. "Thank you for that."

"Sorry. Wait, you're taking Mark at his word?" Lydia asked.

"Yes. He's not crazy about Whyte either."

"Do you have any proof there's a mole?" Sylvia asked.

"Yes," Heather said. "Whoever this mole is, he or she doesn't know where this place is...yet. You can be sure he or she is working on it though."

In all, that eliminates the BEP agents, higher-ups, and anyone new so far, Lydia noted silently.

"Mark said the person knows about when BEPs leave. He and a few others were assigned to recruit somebody being discharged soon. A swimmer from Vermont." Lydia's breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. "I take it you know who that is?"

Cooper! He was in danger. She had to warn him and Nina.

"Hang on," Heather said, reading her reaction. "I know what you're thinking. But this person has access to that information, and if you suddenly stop the discharge they'll find out. Then they'll know you're onto them."

"So what? We let him get discharged?" Lydia asked. "Screw that!" She looked to Sylvia and Arthur for support, but they were quiet. "You can't seriously be considering this. We have to warn him."

"No, you can't," Heather said. "Nothing about this can leak until you find the person. To anyone."

Sylvia hung her head, staring at the floor, her brows knitted in concentration. Arthur rubbed his eyes and slowly nodded. "As much as I hate to admit it, she's right," he said.

"No, she's not," Lydia said. "What about creating a problem with his discharge papers?"

"That would be Harper's department," Arthur said. "We would have to involve him then."

"How about faking an injury? Barrett could sign off on it. Only she and Cooper would have to know. We can trust her, right?"

Heather shot down that idea. "An injury right before he's discharged? That would draw suspicion. And you can't trust anyone else."

Grasping at straws, Lydia said, "Fail his test next week?"

"If this kid is so good that Whyte's interested, then it will definitely raise alarms if he fails a simple swimming test," Heather said.

Lydia felt that she was drowning, with a weight tied to her ankles, no life preserver to keep her afloat, and no aid in sight. Exactly like Cooper, except that his ocean was swarming with predators, chomping at the bit to sink their jaws into him. She ground her teeth. "You can't let him leave."

"If we stop the discharge or alert anyone else, then there's a big chance that whoever the mole is will go into hiding and run," Arthur said. "They'll know we're onto them, and it may put more BEPs in the future at risk. Perhaps the whole Cave." He held Lydia's shoulders. "Look, we'll assign a security detail to Cooper once he leaves next week and send his family to a safe place. I won't let him fall into Whyte's hands. I promise."

"One of the guards could be a traitor," she said.

"I'll choose from some newer guards." Lydia slumped and he added, "We do recruit members of the military after all. These people are all combat oriented." He offered a small smile, but Lydia looked past him, past the walls to where Cooper was merrily swimming at this instant, waiting to be discharged and looking forward to the day his sister would come home, too. The day their family would be reunited, all of which teetered on the brink of shattering and breaking apart.

"That's the best you can do," Heather said.

"Shut up," Lydia said. "You know Whyte will find out where he's at and get past the security. And when he does, Cooper is a goner."

"Not necessarily," she said. "If Cooper joins him, Whyte won't kill him. Then you could have a person on the inside." Everyone glared daggers at her and she shrugged. "Only a suggestion. If I know Whyte though, he won't waste too many people on Cooper. He wants me. At most, he'll send a couple BEPs or a small squad of mercenaries. Maybe a mix."

"Yeah, what if he sends more?" Lydia asked.

"I'll send three of my best agents," Arthur said. "And I'll have Rogers send some of his people, too."

"Oh? What can they do? Can they kill smoke? Break through rocks?" She waved her hands. "And you sent your best already! Your second-in-command! Did you not see how many of us came back alive? With Sylvia out of commission, how many do you expect to return this time, if at all?"

"I did see how many survived, and we were unprepared and outgunned. We know what to expect this time. At the first sign of trouble, we'll get Cooper out of there. His safety is my top concern. Our people will be sure to capture one of Whyte's men and repel the rest. Then we can get some answers."

"Really? Did anyone get answers out of Emeryl or anyone else from Golden Springs? Cause I saw them free out there, and I haven't heard any news that they gave up anything." She spun around, tearing at her hair. There had to be something more she could do.

"She has a point there," Heather said. "Only Whyte knows who the mole is. Nobody else does."

"Either way, until we can figure out more and isolate the leak, we have to let the discharge happen. Lydia," Arthur said, pulling her face back to him. "You can't let anyone know about this."

"But—"

"No 'buts,'" he said. "We've already had two major leaks, one only this morning. We can't risk it. Consider the safety of everyone in the Cave." Her eyes fell to her shoes. "Everything has to run like normal. No suspicions. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, almost in a whisper. Three other agents and fresh-faced guards for security. She didn't know them, but she did know that Sylvia wasn't going. Whyte's forces had been too much for all of them, so what hope did the new group have?

"Look, if we find this person, it's all moot," he said. "So focus on finding this mole and Cooper will be safe."

That was true. Lydia raised her head, resolved to throw her all into rooting out this hidden enemy and stopping them before anyone else was put in jeopardy. She rounded on Heather and crossed her arms. "Tell us more about this person."

"I don't know much," she said. "Either they're a disgruntled employee or Whyte offered a better deal. They've been here for a while now. Not sure how long. At least a year or two." She hummed in thought. "This person has limited access, as it takes a while for them to dig up stuff."

"They do know their way around well and were aware of your transfer," Lydia said.

"Good," Heather said. "Don't assume it was someone connected to the transfer though. This person has had a while to learn how to avoid security here, and they know about discharges. It could be any number of people, all right? Broaden your minds and don't overlook anyone. Any suspicions ringing a bell?"

One name jumped into Lydia's mind. "Harper. He's in charge of all discharges."

"I don't know," Sylvia said. "He's worked here for years."

"He's as disgruntled as they come," she said, countering. "But fine. Who else?"

Arthur and Sylvia were clueless at naming suspects. Every name they offered was shot down by themselves or the other. "No, not him. Couldn't be," or "She's dedicated to the BEP Division. Always has been. Never had any complaints."

Heather eventually threw one into the ring. "What about that guard this morning? The one who was sick?"

"Morella?" Sylvia said. "He's our Chief of Security."

"The perfect cover," Heather said. "No one would suspect him. And no one would question his presence in any room."

"But he was sick this morning," Arthur said.

"Was he?" Heather asked, leaning forward. "Or was he trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire? Did anyone actually see him this morning and confirm his illness?" The three looked at one another but none answered. "Could even be he's working with Harper."

"I thought you said it was one mole," Lydia said.

"True, but the mole could have recruited others," Heather said. "Half of the entire population here could be under Whyte's control." And in that moment, the Cave seemed smaller, exposed, and Lydia didn't want to leave the safe, padded cell.

"Then we have work to do," Arthur said. Sylvia put away her chair and they headed for the door. "I want Harper and Morella monitored. Their phones, everything. And get me a list of any more suspects that fit the bill."

"One more thing," Heather said. "Be careful if you catch this person. Whyte may know right away."

"How could he?" Lydia asked.

"Because he sees the future," Heather said. The three halted, Arthur's hand gripping the door handle until his knuckles were close to bursting out of the skin. His reaction said it all. But it couldn't be. The BEP Lydia heard about when she first came to the Cave who could see the future? The same BEP who stayed only for six months at the Cave? However, Lydia knew it wasn't a coincidence. "Not sure if he'll be able to see this," Heather continued, "but since it's part of his operation, there's a chance he—Hey!" In a flash, Arthur ran to her, grabbed her arms, and pressed his face close to hers.

"He's a BEP?"

"Ow! Not so hard. Yes, he is."

"And you didn't think to mention this why?" Sylvia asked.

"I needed an ace up my sleeve. And because it wouldn't matter," Heather said. "He couldn't see what we were doing here, and I knew he wouldn't come after us himself. He doesn't do his own dirty work when he has others for that."

"How far?" Arthur asked, shaking her. "How far can he see?"

"I don't know. About a few days ahead? Only sees things related to him."

Arthur released her and half stumbled, half jogged to the door. Licking his lips, he left, saying, "Follow me." Sylvia obeyed, but Lydia wasn't sure if he meant her as well. When he left the door open, she took that as an invitation. She shut the door behind her, locking it, and rushed after the other two.

* * *

Twenty minutes later on the top floor of the Center, Arthur hunched in front of a computer, typing rapidly. Lydia and Sylvia stood behind him, the woman watching the information crop up on screen as he searched archived files. The security room they were in doubled as a records room. Currently, a few guards were on duty, watching monitors displaying the Cave's interior from a high angle, the halls of the Center and the dormitories, the entrance tunnel, a few sections Lydia didn't recognize, the immediate outside area surrounded with hills, and a single road passing by the mountain they hid in. There was also a topographical map of the surrounding area, with blips that sometimes appeared from planes flying by.

Finally, Arthur said, "There!" and lowered his voice, casting suspicious looks at the guards. Lydia found herself doing the same as she and Sylvia bent over his shoulders and peered at the screen. "Simon Dedrick." A young man smiled, staring off to the side. His boyish blond hair draped over his blue eyes and his face was sharp, his pointed chin like a finger directing them to the rest of the profile below.

"Discharged twenty-three years ago," Arthur told them. "Back when my predecessor was still running things in California, before the Cave was built for us. Simon could see the future like Heather said."

"How far?" Lydia asked.

"We could never determine exactly," he said. "We had never come across someone with that ability before." He scratched his stubble. "Haven't since, actually. It was hard to test and the limit of how far seemed to fluctuate."

Lydia traced the lines to one segment. "He wanted to be an agent?"

"Yeah," Arthur said. "Did well in training and with the physical tests. But when it came to the psychological tests, he failed."

"Psychological tests?"

"Before we certify every agent, we give them a series of tests," he said. "You'll have to take them, too. They're meant to profile your behavior, attitude, personality, and mental aptitude for your career as an agent." He opened a new window with the test results, complete with notes made by the proctors. "Look here. On his tests, there were 'risks of instability,' 'violent tendencies,' and that he was 'mentally unfit.'" He propped his chin in his palm. "I remember the proctor telling me that some of his answers were unbecoming of an agent."

"Such as?" Lydia asked.

"Couldn't tell me exactly. There's a disclosure to not discuss anything specific beyond the results. All he told me was that he strongly recommended that Simon not be certified."

"Did you certify him?" Lydia asked.

"It wasn't my decision, and my superior sided with the proctor. They were also concerned about how he abused his ability for personal gain—sometimes at others' expense— until he began agent training. He was very persuasive and attracted people to him, but probably because he knew what everybody would already say. They worried he would continue to abuse it."

Arthur frowned at the picture, a hint of regret flickering across his face. "I admit, I felt a little uneasy about him. He thought very highly of himself after he gained his ability and it went to his head. I wanted to believe he could do it, as he would've made a great agent, and I saw the talent in him. I spoke on his behalf, yet he was rejected. Simon came to me later to appeal, begging that I order a reevaluation. But I trusted the final decision and gave into my doubts, rejecting him myself."

"If there were these risks, why let him go?" Lydia said.

"This was after he had already been deemed fit to be discharged. He came back, wanting to apply. Anyway, we normally assign an agent to check in with discharged BEPs. For Dedrick, my predecessor assigned an extra to regularly drop in, and he doubled the visits after the decision. Shortly after though, he managed to lose them and disappear from our scope. Until now."

He pulled up another window with Whyte on it, shaking hands with a foreign ambassador. The man was at least two decades Simon's senior and was radically different. His photographic smile held a pleasant, insincere charm to anyone who studied it long enough, and his face was far more weathered than the youth's. Even his hair was a mixture of black and gray, a far cry from the blond, and his eyes were no longer two blue pools of water but dark pits like the bottom of the ocean floor.

Lydia peered close at the picture. "Is it him?"

"I couldn't say for sure," Arthur said. "He could've had plastic surgery. It would explain why we haven't found him. And when we looked into Whyte, the time he appeared in the business world coincides well with Simon's disappearance."

"That's why he's targeting the BEP Division then?" Sylvia asked. "Because you rejected him?"

"No, that sounds a little farfetched. But it may have been a catalyst. He didn't take the rejection well. He was adamant about joining us, often talking about how he wanted to be an agent and eventually change things for the better."

"Like what?" Lydia asked.

"The quality of our facilities, better solutions to help BEPS reach their fullest potential with their abilities, have BEPs learn to control their abilities at home, all things that we have always wanted anyway and are striving for," he said, sighing. "Basically talking about how he would run things if he was in charge. Perhaps he said all that to win people to his side. In which case, I suppose the proctor was right about his being unsuitable. Or maybe it's my fault. I could've been more persuasive on his behalf, but my doubts got the better of me."

"Don't," Sylvia said. "You did what was best and still do. You've improved things. We're doing much better helping people with their abilities." Lydia nodded in agreement. "And you've gotten us more funding for this place than we've ever had before."

"If a rejection set him off, then I'm willing to bet he would've gone off the deep end eventually," Lydia said. "You're a good leader."

He nodded to them. "Thanks."

"Maybe it's not even Dedrick," Sylvia said. "Maybe there are two BEPs with the same ability."

"Possible, but unlikely."

Lydia looked back at the pictures and saw a faint resemblance of Simon in Whyte. The goatee covered the chin, and his hair was a different shade now. But there was something about the eyes. She sensed a familiarity between them that didn't feel like her imagination. "Either way," Arthur said, "God help us."

* * *

A couple of hours past midnight, Mark and the group arrived back at the base via helicopters. The wounded were swept up by doctors and nurses to the infirmary, including Oliver. The able-bodied mercenaries retired for the evening at Emeryl's permission. The BEPs who were relatively unscathed and Emeryl reported to Whyte's new lounge. The office had yet to arrive, but the door for it was already in place. Mark tried opening it but it stayed shut. "Heard Whyte sent the office back. Wanted a few things changed," Roy said. "Only metal on the other side anyway."

The lounge was on the same floor as the previous one, and it even had the same design, right down to the furniture placement and choice of carpeting. Nobody batted an eye except Mark, who saw and heard Frieda by the door, screaming at the top of her lungs as water filled the room. He shook his head and took a seat on the sofa next to Roy.

Whyte entered and greeted everyone. "Let's dive right in. I'm sure you're all wondering why I had let Heather go."

"You got that right," Valerie said. "We bust our humps getting up there and finding her, only to turn around and leave?" She punched the sofa arm. "What gives?"

He nodded. "Heather has offered us something great. A chance to complete a concoction that Rooke had been creating for me by getting a key component we need. And, even better, a way to bring down the BEP Division."

Everyone murmured to one another, interested in the prospect of no more BEP Division agents hounding them or ruining their missions. Only Mark stayed silent, already in the know about what happened. He yawned and wished Whyte would finish so he could sleep. "She plans to find out where they are located," Whyte continued. He opened up a cabinet underneath the television and pushed some buttons on what looked like a DVD player. "My inside person left a little present for Heather. And since she should've found it by now, we can contact her."

Mark sat up straighter along with the rest. The television switched on and stayed blank while a dial tone hummed. A series of beeps interrupted the hum, followed by a ringing. Once, twice, and on the third ring, the screen clicked and Heather's face appeared in a darkened, padded cell. "Hello?" Mark had the urge to sit right in front of the screen.

"I see you received the note from my person?" Whyte said.

"Yeah, found it in my dinner. And I checked my mattress. What is this thing? A bathroom tile?" She flipped the device she held, and the screen changed to a view of the floor.

"It's a little gizmo of ours," Whyte said. "It can only call and receive from this number by tapping the phone icon on the front screen there." Heather turned the video back to herself and peered more closely at the tile. "We had to sacrifice a lot of functionality to make it small enough to hide, while still being able to penetrate the walls of their underground. It only does video calls, showing you, but not us."

"So you can see if I'm being coerced while talking to you and so no one can see you?" she asked. "I trusted you. How about trusting me?"

"You broke mine. You'll have to earn it back. What can you tell us so far?"

She clucked her tongue "The headquarters is located underground somewhere."

"Yes, we knew as much."

"What about the camera?" she asked, showing the security camera in the corner of the cell. "Won't they see?"

"No. Sheila wrote a program to set the cameras on a loop at two in the morning for an hour every day." He looked back at her. "We sent the loop to our person, and they assured me it was uploaded tonight. They'll do the same every night and remove the program in the morning, leaving no trace behind. So you're safe for now."

"Is that how you also managed to slip me the phone without anyone knowing?"

"Yes. Maybe you'll earn a better one if you do well. That's enough questions. Tell me what you've found out."

"I think we're somewhere in Michigan or close to it," she said. "That's about the best I can pinpoint given how long we drove."

"Yes, based on the transfer route, that was my assumption as well." Whyte jerked his head at Roy, who left with Lionel. "Anything else?"

"It's really big," she said. "Very expansive place they've got here. They call it the Cave."

He waved his hand. "Skip the stuff we already know. It's the Cave, it's likely in a mountain. Any other discoveries you want to share? No? Did you happen to tell them anything about our operation here?"

"No," she said. "But they are on high alert. They believe there's an information leak, so tell your person to be careful. They may be onto him or her."

"I will. Thank you. I'll get you out of there once things have calmed down a little and you can lead us to this Cave. Until then, be sure to call us at two on the dot each night," he said, ending the transmission. He faced Sheila, Mark, Valerie, and Emeryl, the only people left. "I think this went pretty well." However, one glance at Sheila's unimpressed pout and he cleared his throat. "All things considered, that is. We lost some people, but they didn't die in vain." She stormed off from the room and Whyte followed her. "Excuse me. Good night," he said.

Valerie left after them, grumbling about sleeping in very late tomorrow. Emeryl received a call about one of the new recruit's paperwork and quickly left the room as well. Mark was all alone. He checked the hall outside for anyone else coming by. Nobody. Then he locked the door and dialed Heather. Please be there still, he prayed as it rang. Please be there.

The click and then Heather showed up. "Hey," he said.

"Mark? Is it just you?"

"Yes," he said.

She relaxed and said, "What happened? You were supposed to run."

"I couldn't get away in time," he said. "Sorry. Glad you made it back safely."

She smiled and they sat there for a while, neither really sure what to say, but completely content with that. "Oh, I've done some exploring while I've been here," he said finally. "Found out Whyte's base is in the Pacific. And it looks like an oil rig."

"I know," she said. "I've been there, too."

He tapped his legs. "I'll try to find something more concrete tomorrow then."

"Look, if they catch you nosing around, they will kill you," she said. "Stay out of it and try to find a way off the base. By the way, where's Frieda? I didn't see her today." Mark relayed the situation about her demise. Heather wasn't taken aback by it. "To be honest, Whyte showed more patience than I expected. Figured he would off her sooner."

Mark shivered as he remembered that this room was likely equipped with the same detachment design. A slow death at the bottom of the ocean floor or drowning. The options were so wonderful. He forced himself to stay calm and collected in front of Heather and not leave the room. "Probably will do the same to me. You said it after all. I'm not the best fighter."

"No, but you make up for it with resilience," she said. "Don't worry. Frieda was a real screw-up. As long as you do what you're told, you'll be fine. And nothing else."

"Look," he said, scooting closer, "until I find a way off, I'm stuck here with lunatics anyway. I may as well dig up what I can. And you need all the help you can get. This isn't up for discussion." He cut her off. "I'm helping you. I'll leave when I can, all right?" He crossed his arms and kept a straight, determined face, forgetting she couldn't see him.

She sighed and shook her head. "Resilient to a fault. Stubborn, too." She sucked in a deep breath. "All right. But be careful. Got it?"

"Will do." Outside, a set of footsteps echoed down the hall. "I need to go. Talk to you later."

"Bye."

Mark unlocked the door, poked his head out, and gulped as Whyte neared the room. He shut the door and strolled through the hall at a casual pace. "Watching a little TV?" Whyte asked.

"Y-Yeah," Mark said. "How's Sheila?"

"Oh, she'll be fine," he said. "Just needs some time. See you tomorrow." He watched Mark until the boy turned the corner. Mark calmed down once he was alone again.

Did Whyte know about the call? Were there records of calls placed? They had had to sacrifice functionality for the device, but how much? He hit his forehead. Stupid! Should've thought of that! He would look into it tomorrow. Also, he planned to search the other floors and find some indication of where they were and who Whyte's inside person was. Satisfied with his list of goals, he yawned and wandered off to bed.
Chapter 17- Date Night

After leaving Arthur, Lydia ran into Jando and Aidan, and they cornered her immediately. "How did Whyte find out?" "What happened in there?" "Is there a way to stop Whyte?"

She shut them both down. "I can't talk about it," she said. "Arthur's orders."

"What?" Aidan said. "But we were out there. We helped."

Arthur and Sylvia passed by, eyeing Lydia. "I want you to check on our agents, see if anything is amiss," Arthur told Sylvia. "And tell them to stay on alert."

"I know," Lydia said, watching the adults from her peripheral. "I can't though." She gave a subtle shifty glance. Aidan caught on, but Jando missed it while he was checking to see that Arthur and Sylvia were out of earshot.

"That's not fair," Jando said.

"Yes, very," she said. When Arthur and Sylvia had passed by, she dragged the two boys to the dormitories and up to her room. Once she checked that the connecting bathroom was clear and Wren was nowhere in sight, she said, "I can't tell you everything. Arthur doesn't want any leaks. I need you to trust me though."

"Yeah, of course," Aidan said.

She took a deep breath. "Remember that rumor about the BEP who was here only six months? The one who could see the future?" They nodded. "It's Whyte."

Their jaws dropped. "No way," Jando said. "For real?"

"It's very possible," she said. "Whyte was here, probably has a bone to pick." She quickly explained about his talk to improve the Cave, the agent rejection, and his instability.

"So we're up against a spurned psychopath who sees the future and has a massive ego? This is getting better and better," Aidan said, plopping into a chair and putting his chin in his hands. "What else?"

"Cooper is in danger. Don't ask how, but I need you two to keep an eye on him and Nina, all right? Look out for anything suspicious. But don't tell either of them about this."

"Why?" Jando said.

"The safety of the Cave is at stake."

"Where's all this coming from?" Jando asked. "From Heather?" She nodded. "How can we even trust her? She could be trying to save her own skin."

"I don't think so," Lydia said. "She really wants us to stop Whyte."

"I'm not buying it," he said, crossing his arms. "This reeks of a setup."

"Well, I trust her. So will you please at least trust that I know what I'm doing?" she asked.

Jando and Aidan exchanged glances and he sighed. "Fine. Only 'cause you asked so nice." He added a quick wink and half grin.

"What will you be doing?" Aidan asked.

She considered telling them. However, having three people all tracking Harper and Morella, not to mention examining everyone with scrutiny, would attract too much attention. "I have to look into something else," she said. "Try to keep Cooper and Nina out of trouble. I can't keep an eye on them and do this, too."

As puzzled as they still were, they agreed nonetheless. "You can count on us," Aidan said. He smiled, lifting a weight from Lydia's shoulders.

On their way out, Jando lingered behind and said, "Let us know if you need anything else."

"Okay." He gave her a quick kiss, much to her surprise, but when he pulled back, he seemed confused and smacked his lips, as if he tasted something funny. "What?"

"Nothing." He waved. "Got people to save and you got stuff to do."

"Right." She certainly couldn't bring herself to face Cooper and watch over him. When she visited him the next day, at best, she managed only a grimace.

"What's wrong?" he asked during the visit. "Did something happen?" She wanted so bad to blurt out all she knew. But she bit her tongue, shook her head, and made an excuse to leave. She didn't even attempt to see Nina. She had vowed to help them, to look out for their safety, and she had to focus on finding the mole. Nothing else.

Thankfully, Sylvia suspended training until further notice. So Lydia had all the time she needed to follow Harper and Morella during the next few days. Harper was most active in the morning, gathering complaints or visiting with other people throughout the facility, from the kitchens to other offices. She stayed as close as she could, eating in the cafeteria while he berated the chefs, lingering in the halls as he argued with personnel, or pacing outside an office door as he screamed at whoever was on the receiving end of his wrath. Waiting and listening for any proof of his betrayal. Yet nothing came of it. All she learned were some interesting insult combinations and that he was ill-tempered to everyone, but no surprise there. "Incompetent" seemed to be his greeting and "useless" his farewell. She wondered how his secretary put up with it.

Harper isolated himself in his office for the rest of the day after lunch, taking no calls and not coming out until he retired to his room. Lydia switched to Morella until then, but he yielded nothing either. Regular patrols of the Center and the Cave, checking in on other guards, and reporting to Arthur now and then. Once his shift was over, he'd hang out in an employee lounge, shoot the breeze with guards, or exercise. Afterward, he went off to bed about the same time as Harper. She stayed awake a couple of nights to confirm they didn't leave their rooms until morning.

Overall, she couldn't find anything concrete on the two. But for now they might be laying low after the fight. If Whyte could see far into the future, he'd already know the BEP Division was onto his inside person. It may not even be Harper or Morella.

The situation was agonizing to Lydia. It could be anyone. However, no one was jumping out at her besides Harper and Morella at the moment. Don't start getting paranoid and seeing shadows everywhere. Try as she might, she viewed every person, every friendly greeting, every innocuous action with a little suspicion. The Center's receptionist on the phone: was she calling Whyte and informing him about their operations? Was one of the security guards waiting for everyone to look away and shoot them in the back? Was a lab technician concocting a poison to dispense in their food? The fear shadowed her mind each night, causing fitful tossing and turning for a while before she went to sleep. And when she woke up, she always felt exhausted.

She found it difficult to believe that people like Barrett or Brentle were traitors. However, she often saw Brentle cooped up in his lab, refusing any visitors these days, which didn't stabilize her support for his innocence. "Sorry! Very busy today!" he told anyone. If she pressed her ear to the door, she heard him talking low to someone on the phone. Any other day, she would write it off as his normally erratic, frenzied nature, but she kept imagining Whyte on the other line, relaying instructions to him.

Barrett was more or less the same as she always was. When she checked Lydia's braces the day after the mill, she nodded with satisfaction that nothing had been damaged. "You're getting better at that," she noted.

"Or Brentle is making them tougher," Lydia said. As Barrett escorted her out and thumped a cigarette from her pack, Lydia stopped at the door, unsure if she should ask Barrett about the tracking device. If it was her, doing so would raise an alarm. But Arthur had faith in Barrett, and when Lydia thought about it, she did, too. "Hey, I can ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Has anything been stolen from your office lately?"

The cigarette paused halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"Or has anyone broken in?"

Barrett slipped the cigarette into her mouth and took out her lighter. "You're the second person to ask."

"Who was the first?"

"Arthur. He asked me a couple of days ago. Wouldn't say why. Just said to trust him."

"And?"

Barrett leaned on the door frame. "I'll tell you what I told him. I found my office door unlocked one day after lunch. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place, so I figured I had forgotten to lock it. If you'll excuse me." She lit her cigarette and closed the door.

It looked more likely that the mole had been trying to recreate the tracking device. And while Lydia was confident that Barrett wasn't the mole, that was one name off a list of too many. Lydia wanted to vent to Wren about it and her failure to find anything solid on Harper or Morella, but because she had to keep mum, she turned her roommate down when Wren asked what was wrong. "You can tell me," Wren said.

"Just stressed is all," Lydia said with a weak smile.

"All the secret missions taking a toll, eh?" she said. "What you need to do is relax. Cut loose and have fun." She grabbed Lydia's shoulders, mashing them against her torso. "This won't do. You're too uptight." Wren released her and rubbed her arms downward, as if smoothing out a blanket. "Relax."

No, what I need is to find the mole, Lydia thought. She scheduled an appointment with Gary, figuring a talk with him might help ease her, at least enough for a good night's rest. For a long while during the session, she said nothing. She clapped her hands, wondering where to start.

"Still harboring hate toward Heather?" Gary asked eventually, tapping his pencil on his notepad.

"This has nothing to do with her," Lydia said. "I'm just exhausted, and after what happened during our transport I guess I'm worried."

"That whoever attacked you will come again?"

"Yeah," she said. It was like they were all heading deeper into a trap that would snap shut at any second. She could see the hand, but not who it belonged to. The only way to find out was to come closer, walk into the trap, and hope to see the face. Then hopefully jump out before it snared them. In her mind, that face was slowly taking shape as a two-headed Morella and Harper, leering at her.

"They couldn't possibly get us here," Gary said, smiling like a reassuring parent telling a child there are no monsters under the bed. "No one out there even knows where we are."

They weren't supposed to know where we were taking Heather either, Lydia thought. She nodded and looked up. "Thanks." She rose to leave, feeling unfulfilled.

Gary patted her back and took a deep breath. "Try not to worry too much," he said on her way out.

Taking his advice, she lazed about in the game room, sitting in a chair beside Aidan and watching a movie. It felt like months since she had been anywhere close to this comfortable. She pushed aside Harper and Morella, figuring the answer might come to her if she didn't let it consume her mind.

Aidan's cheek had swollen and grown puffy and tender from the fight. He was careful not to touch it at all. "How's the investigation into what happened at the mill going?" he asked.

"Hit a dead-end." He left it at that. Lydia kicked her feet up on a coffee table and asked, "How's your face?"

"Better," he said. "Wish they would quit going for it every time. I look like I'm packing nuts for winter."

"Guess you just have punchable cheeks."

He snorted. "I'd rather they were pinchable."

"Oh, they are that." She poked his cheek gently and grabbed it, jerking it a little. He winced and she said, "Sorry." Yet, when she released her grip, her hand stayed on his skin. He raised an eyebrow and faced her. His cheek felt incredibly warm. Her fingers drifted down to his arm as her eyes followed to his lips.

"Lydia, I," he trailed off, yet his lips were parted ever so slightly, as if leaning in and waiting for her to close her side of the gap. She started to move, coming in—

"Found you," Jando said from the doorway behind them. Lydia dropped her hand. So close. Jando plopped down on the arm of her chair.

"Yes, you did. Why are you looking for me?"

"Well," he said. "I figured you could use an easy night." He massaged her shoulders, neither too hard nor too gentle. Exactly right. A little tension in her melted away. She had to give him credit. He was good with his hands. "Something to help with your stress."

"I don't need a massage," she said.

"No, not that." He bent down to her. "But if you want that, too, I'm happy to oblige. No, I figured we could have our date."

"Where at?"

"A movie in my room. We recently got our TV back." He raised his eyes to Aidan. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Nope. It has been over a week since you brought up the last girl, so you're overdue," he said.

"He's kidding," Jando said, laughing the remark off while tussling Aidan's hair and jerking his head around hard. Lydia caught the brief look of annoyance that passed between them.

"Have fun then." Aidan plopped his sore cheek into his palm and hissed, cursing his forgetfulness.

Lydia was surprised that Jando remembered and still wanted the date. Then again, on another level, she should've expected this. She really didn't have the energy for much, yet watching a movie would be easy enough. All she had to do was sit back and enjoy it. Relax, like Gary suggested. She figured she could handle that. May as well get it over with. "Okay," she said with a yawn. "But let's go to my room. We got our TV back yesterday and I might fall asleep." It would also help to have their date there. Jando wouldn't get too handsy if there was a risk of Wren showing up at any time.

He seemed to catch onto her real reason, but he agreed. "Okay. Your room it is. Let's just swing by mine first. I picked up a few movies yesterday from the video store." He hooked his arm in hers and led the way to his room. Aidan kept his focus straight ahead as they left.

On their way to the dorms, a group of girls waved and called out to Jando from the basketball court. Much to Lydia's surprise, he ignored the catcalls. Wren had been right. He was taking this relationship seriously, and her heart wrenched itself into knots. I should end it before it goes too far. But this had to be how he was with every girl while dating them, right? He took them seriously. Then he would soon get bored and find another. Just don't show much interest tonight and you'll be fine, she told herself.

After they stopped by his room, they went to Lydia's. She detached from Jando and flopped onto her bed. "So, what did you rent?"

He held up the first case, a romantic movie. That's all she needed. An excuse for Jando to copy the on-screen action. She thumbed it down, to his disappointment. Next, a Robin Williams comedy. "Maybe," she said. Finally, a superhero movie. "Protectors of the Milky Way?"

"Yeah. It's really good," he said. "Although, it might be like chefs watching a cooking show."

"Fast-food chefs."

"Hey, we're not that bad. But it doesn't hurt to learn from the pros either," he said, handing her the case. She flipped it over, scanning the pictures on the back. "We could pick up some new moves."

"Yes, because we have access to spaceships and fight aliens on other planets with all these superpowers." She pointed to a space battle taking place between two ships in one picture and someone shooting laser beams out of their hands at a row of enemies in another. She threw him the case and nodded at the TV. "Put in the Robin Williams one." She could use a good laugh after all that had happened recently.

Well into the movie, Jando made his move. He and Lydia sat on her bed, and he slipped his arm around her waist, scooting to her side. She sighed and leaned on his shoulder, too exhausted and already close to sleep. If that was as far as he went, she was fine. Of course, that was wishful thinking. "You know," he said, "I never did get that kiss for helping you out."

Raising her eyes, she said, "You got one earlier."

"Not a real one."

She huffed. "All right," and pecked him briefly on the cheek.

"Ah, ah." He tapped the corner of his lips. She rolled her eyes and planted a short kiss there, too. Yet he turned his head at the last second, stealing a chaste kiss. She slapped his chest and he shrugged. "Couldn't help it. Too tempting."

She played it off and pushed him. Inside, the kiss felt wrong, weird to her. Jando grinned, then lowered his puckering lips to hers, going in for a full-on kiss. She bowed her head, letting him suck in a mouthful of hair. Undeterred, he spat out the strands, and then moved down to her temple and stole a little longer one before she spun the other way.

"Not right now," she said. "I'm pretty tired."

He stopped and looked sad, with a hint of that same puzzlement from earlier as he smacked his lips, as if tasting them. Was he catching on? Before Lydia could interpret its meaning, Wren chose that moment to burst in. "Lydia, you haven't seen my—oh." She froze and gawped at them and at the movie. Lydia realized how the scene looked and sat up straight, breaking out of Jando's arm. Guilt bubbled in her stomach as Wren stared at her, as if betrayed. "What are you doing?!" her eyes said loud and clear. Jando appeared disappointed, yet kept a smile on his face as Wren teetered in the doorway.

"Your what?" Lydia asked.

"Uh, never mind. I'll look for it later," she said and exited quickly. Lydia would have to remember to thank her for ruining the mood. Jando didn't attempt any more kisses, but he did embrace her again. She allowed it, yet couldn't shake the strange feeling that when he did, she pictured Aidan wrapping his arm around her waist. If anything, Jando's embrace made her long for Aidan's even more.

Wren's shocked look lingered in her thoughts, and it made her feel awful and like scum. She knew her roommate would chew her out later. That was the last thing she needed: a disapproving lecture for stringing Jando along. Oh, no. I've turned into Jando. She was worse since her interest was fake. She groaned and buried her face in Jando's shoulder.

* * *

Mark searched day in, day out for the base's location to tell Heather. When he couldn't find anything in the base after searching dozens upon dozens of rooms, he figured anything concrete about the location would be hidden under lock and key. As he stood outside on an upper level, admiring the ocean on all sides, his gaze drifted along the waves to the boats docking. The boats carried cargo each day, which meant they would have manifests of their shipments. Including the ports they dock at. He smiled to himself. Bingo.

Three boats in particular departed each day and returned on the next like clockwork. Dingy, dirty small boats with a skeleton crew and light loads. Mark was confident he could sneak aboard them. Each had a schedule to keep, with the first, The Nautical Mile, to leave departing right after lunch, and the others leaving a couple hours afterward. When the crews went to lunch in the base's cafeteria, they left one crew member behind to guard each boat. The guards followed a routine and never bothered to maintain a vigilant watch. After all, who on the base would sneak aboard their boats?

Starting with The Nautical Mile, Mark crouched behind some of the cargo they had unloaded and waited until lunchtime. The crew left right on the dot, loudly complaining about the heat. "We really need to get some shade. Hang a tarp or something on the deck while we're working."

"Quit your whining," the copper-skinned captain said. They walked by, the crew still grumbling to themselves. When they passed, Mark scurried on board the ship. He nearly slipped on the wet deck and steadied himself against the wall.

"Forget something?" the guard asked from around the corner. Mark opened the nearest door and pulled it to as the guard appeared. "Hello?" He watched the guard through the porthole in the door, willing him to leave. The guard shook his head at the door and pushed it shut. Then he returned to the bow, lounging in a chair and basking in the sun.

The room, not to mention the entire boat, reeked of the ocean, as if Mark had plunged his head beneath the waves and inhaled the salty water. The boat rocked gently, and he stuck to the shadows as he explored the ship.

He had ended up on the bridge of the ship, if it could be called that. It was small, with enough space for two chairs, the helm, and a couple of control panels, which he dared not touch. If there was any indication where the ship had been, this would be it. He rummaged through the drawers near the chairs, thumbing through messy papers. He had to get in and get out. Didn't want to test his luck on his first visit.

Soon, he came across a manifest of the cargo and a recent schedule of The Nautical Mile's docking. He scanned the document and found no mention of the oil rig or where it was located. Only the port the ship traveled to each day. "Ensenada, Mexico," he muttered to himself. He repeated it several times, committing it to memory. Could be useful later.

With not much of the lunch hour left, he escaped the boat and headed for the other two. Thankfully, the second boat, the Rose Araday, was empty. The guard from that one had gone to talk to the guard on the third boat, Little Dipper. Mark located a manifest on the bridge and their port of call in minutes. "Newport, Oregon." Still nothing on the oil rig.

At the third boat, the two guards leaned over the railing, looking out to the ocean. Mark approached the boarding ramp and waited nearby, pretending be fascinated by some fish in the water. If he crossed the ramp and the guards turned, they would instantly spot him. However, they continued to talk and paid no attention to his side of the ship.

After a few minutes, Mark gathered enough courage and crossed the ramp, stepping on his tiptoes. He hugged the bridge's wall and slipped through the door, breathing easier and crouch walking through the room. As he moved around, he picked up parts of the guards' conversation outside.

"Really, I like all the work. More pay for me. All I'm saying is I'd like a week off sometimes to see my kid," one said.

"Oh, boo-hoo. You got it so rough," the other said. Mark opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers. "You know what we've been carrying this month? Bombs."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. One of the crate lids popped open last week. I went to close it and I see DANGER! HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE MATERIALS! in big letters on the boxes inside. You'd think they'd tell us." Mark pulled out another file and traced the data lines to a city dock. Los Angeles. No oil rig though. "Here we are, rocking back and forth, and one mistake could set these things off. God forbid anyone throw a cigarette down there. We've been hauling this stuff nonstop without ever knowing."

"That's nothing. I heard a couple of the other ships carry experimental diseases. They create some in the labs here or change up existing ones. Make them deadlier. We were actually carrying one. Called SN91, I think." Mark froze and cocked an ear. "Heard it's nasty stuff."

"Nasty how?"

"Didn't you hear about Golden Springs? All those people dying?"

"Oh, yeah. That stuff did it?"

"Yeah. And our crates were about falling apart. I tell you, they ain't packing them up right. One disease actually broke out on a boat, and most of the crew died on their way home. Eyeballs burst out of their skull or something like that."

"No way." Mark stayed low and crawled to the door. "What boat was that?"

"Raymond's."

"Raymond also claims he's seen mermaids."

"Hey, with these BEP freaks, who's to say there ain't a BEP mermaid? I tell you one thing though." The second guard paused. "Whatever all this haul is, bombs, diseases, whatever, they're shipping them more often. Whyte's planning something big." Mark rushed across the ramp as the lunch hour ended and stayed far away from the cargo containers during the rest of his explorations. He didn't want to imagine blowing up or his head liquefied from some disease, nor Heather suffering the same if Whyte unleashed it all on the BEP Division.

Mark had been unable to talk to Heather alone for the past several days, as Whyte and the others were always there. However, that night provided an opportunity. Heather had called earlier in the week and made a report that she was working on a guard to join her side. "Got a bit of a strong will, but I managed to slip my filter off and gas him a bit. Convinced him to let me see a page from the BEP counselor's notes on the sessions he's had with me. A little more and I could get him to let me peek at some more highly classified things."

Since then, she had nothing new to report each night and tonight was no different. After the call ended, everyone left except for Whyte. He lingered behind and Mark cursed his luck.

Struck by a sudden idea, Mark hurried to one of the other offices. What if Whyte received a call from his other inside person? He felt rather pleased with his idea and placed a call to the base's operator. "Hello?" the operator said.

Mark whispered into the phone. "This is the BEP Division. It's urgent. Mask my voice." He waited until the operator did. "I'm calling to talk to Whyte. Get him now.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. I have to keep my voice down. The guards here may be listening in. I've discovered something big that Whyte needs to hear. Now, get him for me. Hurry up."

"Please hold." Mark waited for a moment and then hung up. He raced back downstairs to the lounge and hid in one of the empty rooms nearby. Soon, a man entered the lounge and left with Whyte, and then Mark dashed in. He quickly locked the door and called Heather.

After a few rings, she answered. "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Mark?" she said. "Are you alone?"

"Yes, but I don't know for how long," he said. "I couldn't find anything to pinpoint where we are."

"I figured as much."

"But I did check the manifests of a few ships and where these particular ones go to every day." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pants. "Little Dipper goes to Los Angeles, California; The Nautical Mile to Ensenada, Mexico; and Rose Araday to Newport, Oregon."

"Any sort of timetable for all the ports?" she asked. "Or coordinates for where they came from on their way to those ports?"

"No-go on the coordinates. I didn't see a timetable. Then again, I only had a short time to look. Sorry."

"It's okay," she said. "How long do you have?"

"Not long. I put in a fake call. Whyte will know soon enough." He yanked at his collar, his shirt suddenly choking him. "He'll probably suspect me afterward."

"Just keep doing what you're told, keep your head down, and you'll be fine until you escape."

"I haven't done well so far," he said. He told Heather about the casino incident and the forest. "I know Lionel probably knows something. And I'm rooming with him and Oliver."

"He is deadly," she said. "I can't count how many people he's killed. Doubt he can either." Mark gulped. "But I'm more worried about Oliver."

"Oliver?" he asked. "Why?"

"Surely you've noticed that he's psychotic."

"As opposed to the guy who chokes people by jumping down their throats?"

"More psychotic than the rest of Whyte's posse."

During his stay, Oliver had become more erratic and unhinged as Mark spent time with him. "Yeah?"

"That's because he wasn't always blind like he is now."

"What happened?"

"I don't know the specifics, but I do know that when his power started to manifest as a teenager, he accidentally burned down his house," she said.

Mark whistled. "That's rough."

"Not as much as burning your sister alive," she said.

His jaw dropped and he hissed, "Burned his sister alive?"

"Yeah. Last clear image he ever saw was her roasting, screaming as the house fell apart around them." Mark had a sudden flashback to Kirk writhing in terrible pain and agony in his house, reaching, begging for help, but then the man's voice was replaced with a female's intense, shrill scream. He shuddered.

"I can see how he'd lose his mind," he said.

"Not just his mind. His moral fiber. He has a sadistic streak a mile wide that brought him to Whyte."

"Sounds like Finster."

"No, Finster was an amoral thug who loved his job. He killed, although he cared about the people at Overwatch." A smidgen of sadness crept into her voice briefly. "Still, a thug all the same. Oliver got on well with Finster but he is worse. He's insane. He loves letting loose and killing. He'll jump into a fight and burn anyone, friend or foe. I once saw him take out a dozen mercenaries to get at one target because he wanted to claim the kill."

"Then why hasn't he gone crazy and killed everyone?"

"Whyte keeps him on a tight leash. And he only listens to Whyte."

Mark nodded. "Everyone does."

"No, not because he fears him. Because Whyte gives him 'fun' contracts. Steer clear of him. Got it?"

"Yeah."

She sighed. "Speaking of family. How is yours doing? Heard from your parents?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I called my mom a while ago and she sounded fine. Worried, but fine. Can't really go home now though." He picked at the expensive carpet. "No real family to go back to, you know?"

"I know," she said, and her face softened. "Hey." He looked up. "It won't get easier, but you'll get used to it, okay?" She smiled and he wiped his nose. "You'll get through all this."

"Yeah, okay."

"And be careful from now on. Last thing you need to do is to get caught."

"Don't worry. I will."

"Actually, if you can get back on any of those boats, then leave that way. Stay wherever the boat lands. Don't come back here," she said.

He pouted. "And if I end up in another country altogether? Can't speak the language, no money, nowhere to go?"

"Better there than where you are now," she said. "I only agreed until you found a way off."

"I still need to help you," he said. "I'll find out where this place is. Then I'll try leaving on a boat." A boat. Distance. Mark smacked his forehead. The boats! Why didn't he think of this before? "That's it!"

"What is?"

"The boats! I didn't see a timetable, but the ports the three boats go to daily! I could check how far they traveled before they leave and after they come back, too! Then we can figure out how far the base is from the cities!"

"Mark, that's risky," she said. "It's better if you just stowaway on a boat and leave."

"No. I'm doing this."

"Mark—"

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Mark stared at the door. The person was coming closer. "Mark!" Heather said, snapping him out of his frozen state.

"Got to go!" he whispered.

"Mark. Leave on the b—" He ended the call before she finished and unlocked the door. He threw himself to the ground, hiding in front of the sofa and holding his breath as the door opened.

"Mr. Whyte?" Dr. Sullivan. She stepped in. "Hello?"

"Yes?" Whyte stood in the doorway behind her. Mark cursed his luck again and wondered how he could get them away from the door. He looked under the sofa and saw that Whyte's feet were turned toward Sullivan. And toward him, too. But did Whyte see him? Mark curled his legs into his chest and pressed his hand over his mouth and nose. "What is it?"

"I need to talk to you." They walked into the lounge and Mark crawled to the side of the sofa. "Dr. Yonkers and I have found a way to slow Rooke's last version of SN91 to an hour now. Within a month, we may have it up to a day."

"Excellent," he said. "Let's see what you have so far." Mark rolled his body toward the back of the sofa, hoping to bolt for the door.

"Mr. Whyte?"

Oh, come on! Lionel floated in the doorway. The fringes of his wispy body peeked above the sofa's top. Mark scrambled into hiding on the sofa's side again, pressing his back against the leather. He shivered, clutching his throat as if that would stop Lionel from hopping into it if he should be spotted.

"Oh, yes. Come in, Lionel," Whyte said, sitting on the sofa with Sullivan. Lionel drifted by, stopping for a moment on the other side of the sofa. They saw him. Mark knew it. They saw him and any moment they would drag him out and kill him.

However, Lionel continued on and sat in a chair, hovering an inch above it. Mark waited a few seconds that stretched on forever as Sullivan flipped through some papers and handed them to Whyte. Mark crawled as low as he could behind the sofa.

The door was several feet away. They weren't looking at him at all, but they were sure to turn around and hear him before he reached the exit. However, Whyte sneezed hard a few times and Mark took the opportunity. He crawled faster on each sneeze, leaving the lounge and turning the corner. He rose to his feet and snuck to his room. Oliver was already asleep.

For a long time, Mark sat in the corner of the room, watching his bunkmate and the door, unable to rest easy. No matter how much he told himself they hadn't seen him, he didn't believe it. Whyte can see the future. He knows. He'll be waiting for me. But what if he hadn't see him? There was a slim chance, since his sneaking around wasn't directly related to Whyte's person. Perhaps his power was less than what Oliver believed it to be. After all, he hadn't picked up on anything else Mark had done.

He shook his head. It was too good to be true. He'd simply prepare for the worst and keep a weather eye.

Two days. Two days to check the distance the ships traveled and inform Heather, and then he would leave this prison. If I can even make it for two more days. Fear gripped his heart and told him otherwise, told him to hightail it out of there now. He refused. He had promised to help Heather take Whyte down, and that was what he was going to do.
Chapter 18- Succeed to Fail

Lydia received a rude awakening in the dead of night. Wren poked her forehead hard, asking, "Have you seen any of my socks?"

She looked up at her roommate, eyes bleary and unfocused. "What? What time is it?"

"Three A.M."

Lydia sighed and wiped her face. She had to be up early today and hadn't gotten to bed until past one, like many nights since they'd returned. Cooper's test was the next day. "Why are you looking for socks at three in the morning?"

"Because I'm staying with Janice for a bit."

She opened her eyes wider, blinking the sandman's dust away, and saw a handful of clothes gathered up in Wren's arms. "Why?"

"I need a puppy!" Lydia waited for her to clarify. "I'm mad at you! And only a cuddly puppy is going to help me calm down. And Janice has plenty of puppies staying with her since Melissa was discharged."

Melissa. Janice's former roommate. That thought wiggled though the haze. Sitting up straight with her back against the headboard, Lydia said, "Look, Wren. I honestly didn't plan what happened today."

"Yesterday."

"Yesterday. Whatever. But nothing happened. Really."

Wren frowned. "This has gone too far. You led him on. I told you he takes these things seriously."

"I know. I'm sorry," she said. "I was hoping that if I sort of dropped it and didn't mention it, he would move on. Obviously, he's persistent."

"Obviously." Wren pouted, jutting her lip and tapping her foot. "Jando gets around a lot and all, but he doesn't deserve to be used."

The exhaustion still hadn't worn off, and Lydia's frustration welled up. "Are you honestly saying he doesn't use any girls? Don't tell me it's true love with all his flings!"

"Of course not, but he's honest about dating! He doesn't lead his girlfriends on!" she said, stomping her foot. "Stop comparing. This isn't about him anyway. This is about you." She dropped a pair of pants and picked them up, tossing them over her head, half blinded by the legs. "So, have you seen my socks or not?"

"Wren—"

She turned to the bathroom door. "When you're ready to stop this, I'll be back."

"Look, Wren. I will," she said. The girl stopped at the door. "I will. I just have to find the right time to break it off. We've been very busy with a mission, and we all need to focus on it. We can't be distracted."

"Everyone's already distracted." Wren took a deep breath. "I need that puppy." Then she left and Lydia flopped back onto the bed, rubbing her cheeks and groaning. She had really fouled up and knew sleep would elude her the rest of the night.

* * *

In the morning, groggy and irritable, Lydia visited Brentle's office under the guise of needing a brace check. She knocked on his door three times before entering. An alarm clattered and a bell rang as she opened the door. Brentle popped up from behind his desk, clapped his hands, cried, "A-ha!," leapt over the junk on the floor with amazing agility, and yanked her inside the office. "What are you doing here?"

Bewildered, Lydia shrugged him off and shoved him back. "Watch it! I need you to check my braces."

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her arms. "That's all?"

"What else would I be here for?"

He lifted her arm, running his twitchy fingers over the braces. "I don't know. To discover something? Steal my things? Someone has been sneaking into my office lately."

That explained the alarm. Someone had snuck into Barrett's office, too. They must have stolen the plans from both Barrett and Brentle, and then passed them along to Whyte to rebuild the device the two created. "Did you tell Arthur about it?"

"He came down here a couple of days ago. Asked if anything had been stolen."

"Has anything been stolen?"

He shook his head. "Nothing that I can see. But things feel off. Little things moved around. Like files slightly more open than when I left them. Or my things on the floor a little out of place."

Then the person must have copied the plans instead. Makes more sense and explains why Barrett didn't notice anything missing either. She looked at the junk on the floor as he checked her other arm. How did he manage to even stay organized, much less realize when something was amiss?

"What do you think they were trying to steal?" He paused, staring hard at her. For once, his jitters left him and he was stock still.

"It's not me," she said. "Honestly, I wouldn't know what to find in all this. And what would I do with any of it anyway? I can't even leave the Cave unless it's on a mission."

That satisfied him. Brentle finished with her arm braces and beckoned her to the sheet dividing the room. "Sorry. I can't be too cautious, although I suppose this wouldn't hurt now. I've already sent the patent in today." He drew back the sheet. On a metal table lay a deflated vinyl ball, spilling over the sides. He folded his arms, looking to her for an appraisal.

"Nice beach ball," she said.

"Not quite." He picked up one side and stretched open a hole large enough for a body to squeeze through. "The person enters through here and it automatically inflates, molding around the body until it leaves a few inches of room on all sides." He stuck his arm in and against the vinyl. The invention hissed, blowing up and shaping around his hand and fingers into replicated digits. He picked up a knife and stabbed the skin, but the vinyl held firm. Brentle pulled his arm out and the invention deflated. He tugged at the vinyl. "Using a combination of—" he eyed Lydia suspiciously again. "Using a special modification to the vinyl, it can withstand penetration and combat damage. Bullets, knives, anything short of an explosion, all while allowing the user to move and function normally."

"Wow," Lydia said, fingering the invention. "That's handy."

"It is," he said, puffing out his chest and pulling on his coat.

"What's it called?"

"The Bubble Body for now. Not a good name, I know." He shut the curtain and shooed Lydia from the office. "I've been so busy. Others are trying to steal my design. Claim it for themselves," he said, poking his head out first and scanning the other offices and labs in the hallway with thoughtful pursed lips, as if there were too many rivals to single one out. "That's why I've had to be careful until I got it right and the patent sent in. So, good day. Much work still to do." She stumbled out and he slammed the door.

So much for that lead, but he could be faking his paranoia. Her hunch said Brentle was being honest though. Besides, he hardly leaves his office these days, so how could he do much sneaking around? She supposed the real mole could be using Brentle as an accomplice to draw attention away from the mole, but he would be too obvious. She added Brentle to Barrett's name at the bottom of her mental list.

Lydia headed for Cooper's pool. Aidan stood outside, watching Gary's session with the swimmer. Lydia waited beside him. "Anything?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Few technicians. Harper stopped by a little while ago. I assume that's significant?" She stared at him and he smirked. "Sylvia's right. You're still too obvious."

"Spying on me?" she asked.

"Noticing a pattern of who you often follow," he said. "Secret's safe with me."

She yawned. "Maybe I should switch up when I tail them. Haven't thought about it. Been too sleepy." She clonked her head on his shoulder.

"Remember your—"

"Yeah, training. I got it, Sylvia."

He chuckled. "So, he or Morella leaked some information?" he asked. "On purpose?"

She shrugged. "Someone did."

"And they're the most likely suspects." She nodded. "Great. Bad enough we're dealing with Whyte. Found anything yet?"

"No," she said. Gary packed up his folder and chair and left, waving at the two on his way out. They waved back and Lydia pushed off of Aidan. "Which is why we need to try something different." She headed for the pool's edge, Aidan right behind her.

Cooper greeted them and called them over. "Hey, you two. What's up?"

Lydia kneeled down. "Cooper, is there any way you can fail your test tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "Lydia, I've told you I can't."

"Any possible way?"

"No." He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Screw what Arthur and Heather believed. She had to come clean with him. At least partly. "You're in danger," she said. "As soon as you leave here, some rogue BEPs are going to come for you."

His eyes widened. "What? What about Nina? Is she in danger, too?"

"Not that we can tell," she said. "Look, Arthur will assign you a security detail and agents to watch you, but I don't think that will be enough. So, last time: is there any way you could fail your test and make it seem natural or look like an accident?"

He pondered the question for a while, searching for an answer in the water's ripples. "They're planning to have me swim through these underwater nets with holes in them during the test. Then walk around a bit, try to handle easy tasks above water, like eating, picking things up, getting around by myself. Pretty simple stuff to make sure I can control these." He splashed his fins. "The above ground stuff would be impossible to fail. Maybe if I got tangled up in the nets? Some of the nets are attached to these machines and move up and down. The rest are weighted down on the edge of the pool and stay still."

He pointed to a pile of nets, race lane markers, and wide machines against the wall. Lydia examined the machines. They were as tall as the pool was deep and looked like rail-thin water buoys. The nets came out of a slit in the side, while the machine controlled the speed and how high and low the nets moved. "Think we could rig it?" Aidan asked over her shoulder.

"But that would be a mechanical problem, not his," Lydia said. "They would fix it and run him through again."

"Maybe he could accidentally stab himself with a fork while eating," he joked.

She racked her brain. There was a solution here, she just wasn't seeing it. "Okay," she said. "We have nets, some of which move, and Cooper has to swim through them." She picked up one of the nets, pushing the white and blue race markers off of it and spreading it out. A rectangular hole was fashioned in the middle, large enough for a person to swim through.

She ran through her previous ideas from the cell. Almost as soon as she thought of it, Aidan said it for her. "He could fake an injury."

"Exactly," she said. "Pretend to twist something." In the water, nobody would notice if he truly injured himself. "I could dive in, break the net off him, and no one would be the wiser." She turned to Cooper. "All you have to do is fake it."

"Sounds easy," he said.

"Here, we'll practice." Lydia threw one of the nets into the water. "I'll dive in and pretend to rip the net. Then I'll carry you to the surface." She hovered over the edge.

"Aren't you going to take your clothes off?" Aidan asked. Lydia raised an eyebrow and his cheeks reddened. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" She put her hands on her hips and jutted them. "Eager to see that?"

"Jando's rubbing off on you," he said, sitting and hiding his face in his knees.

"Don't be shy, Aidan," Cooper said, patting his knee and laughing. "It's completely natural for a healthy, growing boy."

Lydia chuckled and pushed Aidan's shoulder. "You'll get your clothes wet," he said.

"I know," she said. "But I may as well practice for tomorrow. Have to jump in quick to make it look like he's really in trouble, clothes and all. All right, Cooper. Go ahead."

The boy swam to one end of the pool, flipped around, and darted through the water, straight for the net. He crashed into it, wrapping himself in the net and taking it with him to the floor of the pool. Lydia took a deep breath and dove in. However, she sank faster than she'd expected. But it wasn't because of her clothes or sneakers. Her whole body plummeted like a stone. She gasped, inhaling water and choking on it. Panic set in as her feet hit the bottom of the pool and her breath shortened, urging her to inhale further.

Lydia clamped her mouth tight and covered her nose, saving what little breath she had left. She had to "save" Cooper and fast. Deal with whatever was happening. She pushed off the floor, swimming for him. It was hard going, as she continued sinking back toward the bottom. She had to kick and propel herself at an angle to barely scrape the ground.

When she reached him, her lungs felt full of water, and they burned to spit it up. She untangled Cooper from the net and wrapped an arm around his waist, her feet on the floor again. She bent her knees and pushed, swimming hard against gravity, her chest burning with every little exertion. Cooper, sensing something was wrong, helped her, and she latched onto the wall, climbing and kicking along with him.

With some effort, she broke the surface and threw Cooper's arms onto the edge of the pool. Then she sputtered and coughed up water, her throat rough and the nasty taste of chlorine coating her tongue. Aidan kneeled over both of them. "What happened?" he asked.

"Yeah," Cooper said. "You can't swim?"

"No, I can," she said, wiping the water from her eyes. "I don't know. I felt really heavy. Like someone tied bowling balls to my feet."

Aidan scratched his head, and then snapped his fingers. "Density." She wiped her face and shook her head. "Your muscles are denser than a normal person's. That must be why you sank."

Density? It made sense. She hadn't swum since she'd gained her strength, and with her increased muscle mass she would drop quickly. She could get a leaping start from the pool floor, but it would be difficult to swim. She sighed and lifted herself out of the water, wringing out her shirt. For every use of her ability, there was always a burden to match.

"I guess I'll be okay tomorrow," she said. "Bit tougher than I thought, but no worry. He comes out, fakes it, and that should buy us a couple more days. A week if we're lucky. The real problem will be how do we get Cooper caught in the net." She looked to both of them for ideas. "He can't just swim into it. He's too good and they know that. If we tamper with the machines or the nets, they'll know. It has to look like a complete freak accident."

They brainstormed while her clothes dried, but they came up empty. By then, it was dinnertime, and Aidan suggested they grab something to eat. "Won't do us any good thinking on empty stomachs."

"Guess you're right," she said, helping Cooper out. "Don't worry," she said to him. "We'll come up with something."

"Yeah," Cooper said, his voice a little high pitched. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. We have tonight and tomorrow morning."

In the cafeteria, their friends had saved them seats. Nina fussed that Cooper hardly ate his dinner— "You need your strength for tomorrow,"— but she didn't seem to notice his preoccupied mind. Lydia was glad of that, as Nina may have wrung out of her brother what was wrong. Instead, she absentmindedly asked questions now and then, only looking at her food and picking through it, the same way he was doing.

Lydia took the end seat away from the others opposite Wren, who giggled and laughed as a puppy dachshund licked food off her chin. "Stop it, Petey! Stop!"

"Petey?" Lydia asked, setting her tray down.

Wren immediately stopped laughing and the puppy settled down. It crawled off her lap and into Janice's beside her. "Yeah," she said, rather terse. She dug into her food, focusing hard on it.

"How are you two getting along?" she asked, bringing Janice in.

"Good," Janice said, looking at the dachshund and never making eye contact with Lydia. "Real good."

"Wren, I'm sorry again."

Wren set down her fork and wiped her mouth. "Did you do it yet?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Why not? Just tell him all at once. Like ripping off a BAND-AID."

"We had to do something else. I will though." Wren narrowed her eyes. "Look, after tomorrow, I'll have some more free time. It's just," Lydia began, scratching her nose and avoiding looking at Cooper down the line. She lowered her voice. "Someone is in big trouble. And I think they'll die." She mouthed the last word and added, "If I don't help them. Jando's involved, too, so we really have to give this our all. None of us are thinking about anything else, and it wouldn't help bringing up what we talked about now."

"Is this the mission you told me about?"

"Yes," she said. "Look, I know I screwed up. Yesterday, I was trying to not show any interest in him. That didn't work, yes," she said, reading Wren's look loud and clear. "I shouldn't have ever done this. You were right that he doesn't deserve it. It's wrong and I'll fix it. Just give me a little longer."

Wren sighed and nodded. "All right. Good." She finished off her dessert and left the table. Lydia scooped a helping of peas into her mouth. They tasted dry and awful, killing her already small appetite. She pushed her food away and held her chin in her hands. From down the table, Aidan gave her a curious look, but she shook her head at him and buried her face in her palms, offering a silent prayer for advice on what to do about Aidan, Jando, Wren, and Cooper.

At that time, Donny returned with a second plate of food. Petey jumped out of Janice's lap and ran to him. "No, Petey!" Janice said.

"I got him!" Ryan hopped up in his seat and spit out his tongue at Petey. It was too late. Donny tripped over Petey, spilling his food and face-planting in a pile of mashed potatoes. A fruit cup upturned onto Ryan's tongue and he retracted his tongue, disgusted and chugging a milk carton. "Ugh! Pineapple!" he yelled as the fruit fell on Donny's head.

Those nearby laughed and Lydia helped Donny up, a small chuckle bubbling up. The potatoes formed two bushy eyebrows and a thin beard on his face. He sneezed, spraying mashed potatoes everywhere, and a pair of green lasers bounced off the floor, barely missing Petey.

A spark burst into Lydia's mind as Donny picked up his tray and Petey ran to him again, barking and pawing at his legs. Janice scooped him up in her arms, wagging a finger. "No, Petey. That was very bad. If you want food, ask me."

"Hey, Janice," Lydia said. "Do all the dogs in the Center obey you?"

"Most do," she said, stroking Petey. "This little guy's still learning to behave." He calmed down and snuffled into her arm. "Why?"

Lydia eyed Aidan and he caught on. "Would you mind helping us with something?"
Chapter 19- Test Results

It took some convincing, but in the end, Janice agreed to help Cooper fail the test. "We'll need a good-sized dog," Lydia said on their way to the first-floor laboratory kennels. Janice stroked Petey, who kept trying to climb out of her arms. Cooper patted him with his flipper and Aidan kept watch for any of the Cave personnel. "Pretty strong, too."

"I have one in mind," Janice said. They entered the kennel room, where two rows of cages, one stacked on the other, lined either side, with dogs on the right, cats on the left. At the end were chew toys, scratching posts, and blankets. The cages were pretty large. Not all were occupied, but the ones that were had been lined with newspapers and provided with fresh food and water bowls for all the animals. Dog and cat fur, waste, and scents permeated the entire space.

Janice set Petey in his cage, and he yapped with the other dogs and ran around in circles. Cats and kittens mewed and pawed their doors, stretching their claws. They were so fluffy and the dogs so eager and pitiful for games that Lydia fought the urge to unlock their cages and play with them all, tumbling and rolling in a mass of soft, warm fur, slobbering kisses, and cuteness.

"How about this one?" Cooper said, pointing at an old bulldog. The dog lifted its head and waddled to the bars. "He looks pretty tough." Cooper swallowed his upper lip and jutted his bottom teeth, imitating it. The dog grew bored fast and flopped down with its back turned.

"Good thing Wren isn't here," Aidan said. "Wouldn't be able to hear anything over the shrill screams."

"She hasn't been that bad when I've brought one to my room," Janice said. Although Lydia knew there was a "She only wakes me a few times each night with uncontrollable squeals" in there. They stopped at one cage, where a muzzled Doberman rested its head on its paws. "Ozzy. Hey, boy." Janice kneeled down and reached in. He snarled at her, lurching at the door and chomping at her long ears. Janice pulled her ears behind her head and let him sniff her hand. After identifying her, Ozzy settled down and let only Janice scratch behind his ears.

"Uh, why the muzzle?" Aidan asked.

"He's a bit of a biter," Janice said. "And there've been some problems."

"What kind of problems?" Aidan backed away while Lydia kneeled beside her.

"He's not dangerous," she said. "He just gets into trouble and is wild sometimes. Aren't you, boy?" When Lydia tried to pet him, Janice swiftly pushed her hand aside. Ozzy growled, a menacing rumble in his throat. "I wouldn't."

"All right, but how do we sneak him out of here and to the pool?" Lydia asked.

"You won't have to. They're putting him to sleep tomorrow." She frowned and shook her head. "It's not fair. He didn't mean to hurt anyone." Ozzy looked back at her and his eyes seemed sad, too.

Lydia rubbed her shoulder. "Sorry."

Janice sniffed. "They'll take him to the second floor to do it. I'm going with him to be there for him. I can tell him what to do."

"That's perfect." She turned to Ozzy and said, "You'll be doing a good thing." He disregarded her and Lydia asked Janice, "Will he do what you say?"

"I think so." Worry coiled in Lydia's stomach. They didn't need a rabid dog on the loose. "I mean, I'm pretty sure he will. He doesn't like the staff too much, so all the better for him. Anything to mess with them, he'll do. Isn't that right, boy?" He replied with a bark. "He says 'Yes.'"

"All the same, we should practice," Lydia said. She called Cooper over as Janice opened the cage. When Lydia tried to hook a leash to his collar, he barked and snapped at her through the muzzle. She passed Janice the leash and let her attach it. "If anyone asks, you're just spending some time with him before he...you know," Lydia said.

"Right."

"Let's go, guys." Lydia turned around, expecting Aidan to follow. To her surprise, she found him in front of a cage with a chocolate-colored kitten, raising up on its rear paws and spreading its arms wide against the cage door. Aidan grinned and wiggled his finger into its furry chest. When he stood and saw everyone looking at him, he quickly about-faced.

"Right, let's go."

He held open the door for them. Cooper and Janice puffed their cheeks and stifled their laughter. As she passed, Lydia said, "You know, Aidan, if you want to adopt one, I'm sure Janice—"

"Shut up. Move. Practice. Now."

* * *

Lydia outlined the entire plan to the others. "Convince them to hold off bringing Ozzy up here until around ten, when the test will start," Lydia told Janice. "Once you're on the second floor, Ozzy will escape and Aidan will open the door as soon as he comes. Then Aidan will help add to the confusion and keep people off Ozzy. Have Ozzy trip over the nets, as many as he can, and drag them. This will throw Cooper off and let him fake an injury and I'll 'save' him."

"How is Ozzy supposed to escape?" Cooper asked.

"They'll have him on a leash," Janice said. "But he's strong when he needs to be. I'll distract them enough so he can take them by surprise."

They spent the rest of the evening practicing the routine. It took several attempts for Ozzy to pick up and drag one net around his body. However, he soon gathered three, enough for Cooper to crash into and leave no one the wiser.

When everyone retired to the dormitories at midnight, Jando waited by Lydia's room. "Been swimming?" he asked.

"Sort of," she said, shaking her hair like a wet dog and flinging droplets on him.

Jando shielded himself, chuckling. "Stop! Stop!"

"Okay." She ran her hands through her hair, rustling any leftover water loose. "So what's up?"

"Did you find a way to help Cooper?"

"I think so," she said.

"Good," he nodded. "Good. 'Cause I tell you, if I didn't know better, I would say Nina was trying to drown herself. Didn't see her surface once today before dinner."

"You didn't tell her anything, did you?"

"No," he said. "But you might think about doing it."

"I have," Lydia said. "We have a plan. After tomorrow, everything should be fine for a while."

"'We'?"

"Aidan, Cooper, Janice, and me."

"What happened to keeping this a secret?"

"I know, I know," she said. "But if this is going to work, we need Cooper and Janice."

"I was wondering where you snuck off to with Aidan," he said, smiling. "A lesser boyfriend might be jealous."

"Boyfriend?" she asked. "Have we reached that?"

He tilted his head. "Haven't we?"

"I don't know. It's too late to figure it out." She opened her door. "Was there something else?"

"Yeah," he said, standing in the doorway. "How are you doing? I saw Wren giving you the cold shoulder."

"It's nothing," she said. "Just a," she twirled her hand, "disagreement."

"Want to talk about it?"

She considered it, but she was groggy and had to concentrate on Cooper. Maybe if you had asked this morning. She yawned and shook her head. "Not tonight. Maybe later. Good night."

"Good night." He leaned in, but Lydia was quicker this time. She caught his puckering lips in her palm and wagged a finger. Amused, he pushed off the door frame and went to his room.

* * *

Lydia was downright nervous the next day. She came into the pool area early to talk to Cooper. Nina was already there, holding his flippers. Lydia gave them some private time, and when Nina left to use the restroom, she gave her a small smile. "Everything will be okay," Lydia said. Nina hardly lifted her eyes.

Once his sister was in the restroom, Lydia crouched beside Cooper. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Around nine, the technicians arrived and set up the course that Cooper would run through. A nurse stood by, ready for any incident. Arthur and Sylvia came soon after, noting Lydia's presence with a brief nod. She expected them there. It was possible that the mole would attend, to ensure that everything went according to plan. Only a possibility, she reminded herself. She couldn't jump to accusations quite yet. Although Harper's showing up with the test proctors did draw much of her attention.

Aidan and Jando arrived, the latter already informed about the plan from the other. "Basically, after Ozzy enters, we need to cause a distraction. Do whatever you can to keep people from reaching him," Lydia told Jando.

"Right."

Aidan took his position by the door. Lydia stood on one long side of the pool and Jando on the other. Cooper floated by the starting position in the corner and Lydia gave him a thumbs-up. He returned it and did a few practice laps above the surface, following the race markers around the pool. Lydia kept one eye fixed on Harper as he scribbled on a clipboard. Probably making notes to Whyte. She frowned. Sylvia caught her attention and shook her head. Lydia understood: don't be obvious. She focused elsewhere and strolled around, nearing Cooper and wishing him good luck.

At the stroke of ten, the proctors began the test. The technicians activated the moving nets and one stood by Cooper with a stopwatch. "On your mark. Get set." Lydia's stomach bounced and her fingers scrunched. "Go!"

Cooper took off like a bullet through the water. He swam easily around the pool's edges, staying close to the markers. He submerged, dipped, rose, and slipped through the nets like a trained dolphin. It was quite the sight. Lydia was always amazed by his grace and speed, but this was akin to a water park show. She half expected rings to lower from the ceiling for him to jump through.

A loud barking reminded her why she was here. Aidan opened the door, acting as if he needed to use the restroom. Ozzy bounded in, growling behind his muzzle. The technicians scattered and fled from the crazed dog. Ozzy's handlers and Janice ran in seconds later. "Be careful!" they told everyone.

Arthur and Sylvia dove for Ozzy. Jando stepped in the way, crashing into them. The three knocked a technician into the water behind Cooper. Lydia smiled. This was working better than she thought.

Ozzy gathered up a few nets and Lydia prepared to dive in. As Cooper reached the nets, the handlers trapped Ozzy. He jerked the other way and ran under a pair of legs. He leapt into the air, attacked Harper, and they fell into the water. As pleased as Lydia was by this cherry on top, the nets unexpectedly dragged into Cooper too fast and threw him into the wall. Lydia peered over the side. He drifted to the bottom, a trail of crimson in his wake.

"Cooper!" Nina screamed, tore off her helmet, and jumped into the water. Lydia dove in after her and was thankful for her muscle density. She reached the bottom before Nina and grabbed the nets. They were too tangled and wouldn't unravel. More blood poured from the back of Cooper's head.

Lydia didn't check to see how bad the injury was. She needed to get him to the surface fast. Nina arrived and they tore at the nets. As blood seeped out, Nina became frantic, which panicked Lydia. Nina was behind Cooper, so she could see the injury better. It had to be horrible, even life threatening. Lydia picked up her pace, grabbing whatever she could and ripping it apart.

Grabbing hold of two wadded balls of net, Lydia clamped her hands and pulled. However, she cast one net away instead of tearing another hole in the web. Peering through the water, she realized she held Cooper's knee in her other hand.

Oh no.

She had crushed his knee. She held the limp leg in her hand and Nina made furious gestures at her.

Focus on the net. Worry about that later. She ripped apart the last net, careful not to grab Cooper anymore. Together with Nina, she pushed off the floor, carried him to the surface, and threw him up on the ledge.

Aidan handed Nina her helmet and she slipped it on and climbed out of the pool. "What on earth were you thinking?!" she shouted at Lydia. "You broke his leg!"

Lydia looked over at Cooper. Already, a crowd had gathered around him. His moans grew louder when someone touched his knee. Thank God. He was alive.

"Get him to Barrett! Now!" Arthur ordered. The nurse grabbed a stretcher from an emergency cabinet and unfolded it. Cooper slipped into unconsciousness as the nurse and a few other people loaded him onto the stretcher and carried him out. Nina stayed by his side and shot Lydia a final scowl.

As Lydia climbed out, the two handlers apologized again and again to Arthur and Sylvia. "We're so sorry. We thought we had control of him," one said.

"I told you we needed to use a cage," the other said, slapping his partner's chest. "The thing is a monster."

"Listen, listen," Arthur said, trying to calm them. "It's all right. It was an accident. Just be sure to get him where you're taking him. With no further problems. Clear?"

"Yes, sir." Between them they carried Ozzy and Janice followed, petting him and scratching his ears.

The technicians gathered up the nets and water markers. While they worked, Lydia wrung out her shirt and pants as best she could. "You okay?" Aidan asked.

"Yeah," she said, despite feeling like she had to puke.

Aidan and Jando helped her up and they started walking to the door. "And where are you three going?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, you know," Aidan said, pretending to check a wristwatch, "we have an appointment not to be here right now."

"Stay right there," Arthur said. He grabbed Lydia's face, turning it side to side. "Act normal. Harper is still here." Lydia caught a short glance of the sopping wet man grumbling and talking on a phone. "I told you not to do anything," he said. "Or to tell anyone else."

"What were you thinking?" Sylvia asked. "You wouldn't listen and Cooper's hurt."

"Better than being dead," Lydia said. She cringed at the hard glare from them. "We only meant to fake an injury. That's all. We haven't figured out who the mole is yet." Arthur lifted her arm, bending it back and forth. "And I needed the help to make it look convincing."

"Let's hope you did. Otherwise, we're going to lose this person," he said.

"We may have lost Cooper, too," she said. "There has to be some other way to flush this person out than wait."

"We'll discuss this later," Arthur said, letting her go. "And your punishment when all this is through. Everyone act normal for today." Then he said a little louder, "Go see Dr. Barrett about your head. Better safe than sorry." She nodded and the trio left, passing Harper on their way out.

"And I'm told they gave him a concussion! A concussion! I will have their jobs!" he said to the wet phone. He spun about in a rage, flinging water everywhere. "They won't even be able to own a dog when I'm through with them! Hello? Hello? Piece of..." he slapped the phone against his thigh.

Lydia feared for the handlers, but Aidan assuaged her. "Arthur won't let anything happen to them." She knew he was right, and they marched on to Barrett's office. Yet now she feared more for Cooper. Had he perhaps suffered worse than a concussion? There had been enough blood to worry her. She double-timed it to the office, along with Jando and Aidan.

A nurse directed them to a hospital room down the hall, one of several near Barrett's office. Nina waited outside, pacing and pressing her ear to the door every few seconds. When she saw Lydia, her anxious stride turned hateful. "Are you blind? Really, are you blind?" she said, bending too far to talk and sloshing water from her helmet all over the tile floor.

"I panicked," Lydia said. "There was all the blood, and I couldn't see too well down there." Nina fumed and crossed her arms. "Is he all right?" She looked back at the door. "They say he has a mild concussion, a split in his head, and a broken kneecap from what I can hear. You tell me."

"I'm sorry. Truly sorry," Lydia said.

Nina ignored her, although she did allow them to stay and take seats in the plastic chairs in the hall. They sat and waited, nobody speaking much for two hours.

Lydia blamed herself and prayed for Cooper. Should've practiced more. Should've brought him in from the beginning and practiced. This wouldn't have happened then.

The door soon opened and Nina flew to it, blocking Barrett and a nurse. "How is he?"

"He's fine," Barrett said. "It wasn't as bad as it looked. He's awake now." Before Nina even asked, she stepped aside. "Yes, you can see him."

"Thank you." She entered and Barrett shut the door behind her.

"Heard there was a lot of excitement up there," Barrett said to Lydia and stuck a cigarette in her mouth.

"Is he all right?" Lydia asked.

"Like I said, he's fine. Just needs to take it easy. Try not to stay too long, okay?"

"And his knee?"

"Fractured, but gave him a shot of Barrett Juice. Should be back on his feet, or fins, and swimming in a couple of weeks." She lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, stretching her head back and working out the kinks in her neck. "Barely past noon and we've had enough commotion for one day. I'll be outside if anyone needs me." She walked out a nearby exit, blowing a cloud of smoke upward.

Lydia figured they should give Nina and Cooper a few minutes by themselves. They waited in the hall, relieved that everyone was fine. "Think it worked?" Aidan asked.

"I hope so," she said. "Otherwise, we're screwed."

"Silver lining is that he'll have to stay here longer than you'd hoped," Jando said.

"True." If the plan worked, they had far more time than she anticipated to track the mole. With any luck, this setback would trip up the person and they would make a mistake. And Lydia would be there to seize the opportunity.

The door soon opened and Nina poked her head out. She was calm and collected, welcoming them in. "He wants to see you," she said.

Inside, Cooper raised the head of his hospital bed. His wound had been cleaned and stitched up. The cut appeared somewhat small and the stitches few for the amount of blood Lydia remembered. He was a little dazed and kept his head against his pillow. "Sorry if I don't talk much," he said. "Got a wicked headache."

"That's okay," Lydia said. "Just glad you're all right." An EKG machine beeped beside a steady drip of morphine into his arm, and he pulled his baby-blue blanket up higher. "Are they keeping you in here long?"

"For a while," Nina answered. "To make sure he doesn't trip all over himself."

"And no swimming for a while," he said. "That's just cruel."

Nina sat in the only chair beside him and offered him his food tray. "They'll bring lunch soon."

"Yum," he said in a monotone voice. "Hospital food."

"We'll get going then," Lydia said. "Again, we're happy you're okay."

"Get better soon," Jando said.

"We'll come visit later," she said, and Aidan and Jando left with her.

Nina stopped Lydia in the hall. "Wait. Can I talk to you for a second?" She shut the door and Lydia sent the boys on. Nina looked at Lydia, her face contemplating what to say. She settled on, "Thank you. For what you did. Cooper told me what happened and why. That he was in danger. So thank you."

"Oh, uh, anytime," she said, surprised by the change.

"To tell the truth, I felt like this was my fault at first. I've been selfish. I wanted him to stay," she said. "I wanted him to go home, too. He should be home. However, I wanted him to stay. Just a little longer. But not like this. Yet if you hadn't been looking out for him, I don't know what I would've done."

"Hey, it's no problem," Lydia said. "What are friends for?"

Nina's face lit up in surprise. "And you also looked out for me. Tried to get me out of here."

"Sorry, I couldn't," Lydia said. "But maybe it's for the best. Wouldn't be a good idea to leave at the moment."

"No. No, it wouldn't," Nina said, heaving a deep sigh. "Doesn't stop me from wanting to leave though. Thing is," she said, tapping the door, "I worry about him. I have to. He was a pain as a kid. Always getting into trouble." She pointed at the gills in her neck. "We're here because when his toy fell into a storm drain, he had to crawl into the sewer after it. And he had to mess with some chemicals, this chemical canister full of a red ooze mixture tossed down there. Of course, when I cleaned him off, I got it on me, too. Since then, I've always had to be a step ahead and make sure he's safe, or who knows what he'll get into?"

Lydia was dumbfounded. Had Nina just confided in her? She realized she needed to reply and said, "S-Seems he grew out of it."

"Yeah, he did. Still, I'm older. I'm supposed to watch out for him." She offered her hand and Lydia shook it, still processing what had happened. "Thank you again for looking out for us."

Nina returned to Cooper's bedside, and Lydia strolled to her dorm. Nina had actually told her where their abilities came from and confided in her. And Cooper was safe for now. In spite of the hiccups and setbacks, that conversation with Nina and today's achievements with Cooper's test boosted her spirit.

The boost was short-lived, as Arthur and Sylvia passed by on their way to visit Cooper, and his previous warning counteracted Nina's gratitude. They had saved Cooper, yes, but at what cost? What if the mole was aware of them? While she would've liked to believe the plan was a complete success, Lydia had her reservations. Cooper's accident had been a step-up in the game, and Whyte surely had a big play to push things further.

* * *

Mark spent the next two days measuring the ships' traveled distance. Security was tighter, with more vigilant guards, but he managed to slip by. Checking the distances against a map of the Pacific Ocean he dug up, he had a rough location of the base. Eager to share the news, he waited that second night for Heather's call. He wondered if instead of tricking people to leave the room this time, he could signal the coordinates to Heather.

Once Whyte had gathered all his BEPs and Emeryl together in the lounge later that night, he dialed Heather. Her face popped up on-screen and she yawned. "You know, I'm getting kind of sick of losing sleep to tell you the same thing night after night. Nothing to report."

"And I'm getting sick of hearing the same thing from you," Whyte said. "You're not really holding up your end of the deal. Perhaps you lack proper motivation? What's more motivating than a life-saving cure?"

She bit back another yawn. "How about a good eight hours for once?"

"Well then, I could call during the day," Whyte said. "That way, you can tell me immediately when something happens. Like a certain BEP failing a swimming test today."

"What?"

"Yes," Whyte said from the sofa. "According to my person, Mr. Cooper Sanders failed his exam. Something about a rabid mutt running in and disrupting things. Quite the coincidence, eh?" Heather's expression faltered and Mark knew where this was leading. "Unlike my subordinate, I don't think it's a coincidence." He leaned forward. "Some skulking rat has been blabbing my secrets."

"I didn't say anything," she said. "I kept my mouth shut."

He pursed his lips and draped an arm over the sofa. "I'm sure. Why don't you call Arthur and all the BEP Division staff in?" He turned to Mark and nodded at the television. "Go on. That way you can tell everyone where we're located."

The absolute silence stifled all sounds until Mark heard only his heartbeat. That froze, too, as time stood still. Eyes, eyes everywhere trained on him and a tingling sensation touched his shoulder. He pulled away, fearing it was a hand restraining him. But it was his own imagination. Everyone simply watched and waited for Whyte to continue.

"Do you really think we didn't notice you sneaking onto the ships? Or how you hid right over there a couple nights ago?" He pointed at the arm of the sofa, and Mark wanted to crawl behind it and hide again. "You've been sneaking around for a while. So go on, Mark," he said. "Tell her. Tell her like you told the BEP Division about Cooper Sanders."

His throat swelled and his voice croaked. "I," he licked his lips, "I didn't—"

Whyte wagged a disapproving finger. "Mark, do you remember the principles I demanded?" He gave him a second before answering himself. "Loyalty, honesty, and competence. You've already broken one. Don't go for two. It'll make it harder for you." He waved Emeryl and Sheila to him. "Take him."

The pair each grabbed one of Mark's arms, and Heather pressed the screen to her face. "Leave him alone! He didn't do anything!"

"I assigned three people to bring in Cooper: Oliver, Lionel, and Mark. I told only them about recruiting him. Process of elimination dictates it wasn't Oliver or Lionel. Mark told the BEP Division about my inside person and Cooper during the last fight. Elementary, my dear Heather. Lionel," he jerked his thumb to the door, "deal with of him."

"With pleasure."

Lionel led the way, and Emeryl and Sheila dragged Mark along. No, this can't be happening! Mark thought. There had to be a way out. He jerked and twisted, but their grips were firm. The closer they neared the door, the more he fought. He struggled and dug his heels into the floor.

"Don't do that," Whyte said, clucking his tongue. "You'll ruin the carpet."

"Let him go!" Heather said. "He didn't tell them anything!"

Sheila kicked the back of his knees, yet he refused to buckle. He head-butted Emeryl's shoulder and loosened his hand. He had one arm almost free. He just had to hit Sheila.

Suddenly, Mark's eyes watered and his throat grew scratchy. He hacked and coughed, and his breathing labored as if he'd inhaled an emission from an exhaust pipe. Soon, air eluded him altogether and he collapsed, clawing and flailing. Above him, Lionel grinned, the bottom half of his ashy body seeping into Mark's mouth, nostrils, and crevices. His very pores were filled with smoke.

"Whyte! Leave him alone!" Heather screamed louder. Off to the side, everyone watched with the same solemn expressions as they had when Frieda died. Roy bowed his head and turned away while Valerie's head drooped as she fought sleep. The rest were casual, business as usual. All except Oliver. His held a tinge of something more. Sadness? No, his heavy headshake said disbelief.

"Looks like your betrayal went up in smoke," Oliver said, forcing a single chuckle. "Too bad."

"Lionel, I said outside," Whyte said.

"Had to calm him down," Lionel said. "Let's go." The door opened, and Lionel stayed right beside Mark, feeding him the smoke and keeping him conscious enough to panic.

"It was me!" Heather said. "All right? I told them about Cooper!"

Whyte raised a hand and they stopped. "And who did you hear it from? Mark?" She hesitated and he pointed them on. "Hurry, Lionel."

"Yes, fine. I heard it from him," she said. They halted once more.

"What else have you told them?"

"They know about your power," she said. "At least Arthur, Sylvia, and Lydia do."

Whyte perked up. "How did Arthur react?"

"He was very excited, asking me how far into the future you could see, et cetera. Like he knew you."

"I see," he said, scratching his beard. "Anyway, back to the matter at hand, none of this excuses Mark's behavior. I won't tolerate traitors here."

"Look, I made him do it," she said. "Everything he did was to help me. Just leave him alone."

Emeryl and Sheila dropped Mark and the ashy taste receded. He spat out the remains and raised his head. "Ugh." Once she heard him, she relaxed.

"You're in no position to ask for that. Unless," Whyte stroked his chin, "you want to bargain again?"

She clenched her teeth. "What do you want?"

"I want you to come back and work for me again," he said. "In exchange, I won't kill Mark. You'll still get your cure and I'll get the BEP Division. Consider that your new motivation."

Heather swallowed several insults on her tongue. "And will you release Mark?" she asked, a sharp bitter tone in her voice.

"I'll think about it."

Her nostrils flared. Closing her eyes, she asked, "I have your word?" Mark's tension ebbed through his muscles, abandoning him, and he thanked Heaven for Heather. She had saved him from the jaws of death once more.

"You do. But if it helps..." Whyte stood and opened a cabinet in the corner of the room. He traced his finger along the various rows of books inside and selected one. A black Bible, which he presented to everyone, before he placed his hand upon it. A wry grin snaked on his lips. "I have a Bible here. Let's take this to the highest bond. On the Holy Scripture, on my life and soul, I will not lay a finger on Mark. And, if you help me get the BEP Division, I will free you of your power. Does that make you feel better?"

"No," she said. "But I have no choice."

"That's right," he said, tossing the Bible onto the sofa. "Now, we're going to get you out of there before you blab anymore."

"How?"

"Never you mind. I'll arrange to have you transferred out of there and then you can lead me to the BEP Division. I'll tell you all you need to know once I've set it up. For the time being, keep your mouth shut or Mark will pay." He picked up a remote and aimed it at the television. He said a pleasant, "Good night," and ended the call.

Whyte turned on his heel and pointed at Valerie. "Get the FBI on the phone. I have a few friends who owe me some favors." She rocked several times and, with a tired groan, hoisted herself to her feet. She puffed away her strands of hair and grumbled about these late-night meetings as she left. Then Whyte turned to Mark.

"Want me to take him out?" Lionel asked.

"No, if we do anything before we have Heather, she won't cooperate," he said. "Mark is our little carrot for her. Besides," he said, laughing to himself, "I did take an oath on the Bible not to harm him." He grabbed Mark by his shirt and jerked him to his feet. He studied his face for a moment and shoved the boy against the wall. "Take him to a cell for now."

Emeryl and Sheila latched onto Mark's arms again and followed Lionel. They dragged him to the elevator, down a few levels, and to a quiet hall. Mark didn't fight. He wasn't keen on more ash in his throat, not when he finally spat out the last taste from his mouth. Emeryl and Sheila threw him into an empty, lit cell with a cot and a toilet.

"Pleasant dreams," Lionel said, and they closed the door with a resounding metal slam.
Chapter 20- In the Loop

Although Cooper was safe for the time being, Lydia's workload doubled. The mole didn't make any mistake to oust him or her. Lydia tasked Jando with watching Cooper's room, despite a guard assigned there at all times, and Aidan with helping her tail Harper and Morella. If either was the mole, they kept cool under changing circumstances. Aidan never had anything new to report when they met for training each day. "Harper's always cranky and Morella's diligent with his rounds."

Lydia ran herself ragged chasing any other lead she could think of, too. She didn't bother with Barrett or Brentle. Barrett saw patients all day and only took smoke breaks every once in a while. Brentle stayed locked in his office with his inventions. Anyone else who seemed likely didn't exhibit any strange behavior.

She soon expanded her search to anyone and everyone in the Center: the receptionist, who answered calls and welcomed the BEPs all day long; Gary, who listened to those within the Cave, or former Cave residents by phone for hours on end; the guards, who stood rigid at any forbidden area; the office workers, who surrounded themselves with mountains of paperwork; and the lab technicians, concocting chemicals and running experiments until nightfall. She grasped each and every straw she found, hoping against hope that one was a winner. But each one left her empty-handed.

Arthur and Sylvia spoke to none of the three about Cooper's test. Rather, Lydia sometimes caught Sylvia checking on certain individuals, but nothing ever happened with them. It wasn't until a few days after the test that Sylvia summoned Lydia to the holding cells. It was the first time she had spoken to her in days. "We need you to talk to Heather," she said. "She hasn't been very talkative lately. Maybe she'll open up to you."

"All right," she said. "What should I talk about?"

They huddled away from the guard on duty and Sylvia lowered her voice. "Ask her if Whyte has any connections in the FBI."

"Why? Do you think he has someone leaking information there, too?" she asked.

"That's none of your concern."

Lydia was taken aback and looked down. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know," Sylvia said, patting her back. "The mill didn't go so well. We'll get you another practice mission soon." She cut her eyes to the guard and added a fake smile. Lydia understood. Not here.

Sylvia dismissed the guard and took over control of the guard station. Lydia entered the hall of cells, confused as to why she'd been left in the dark. They had kept her apprised of everything so far, and they needed her to help find the mole. Is it because of the test? she wondered. Did they think she would open her mouth again? What made it hurt worse was that the order had to have come from Arthur. He knew why she had included Aidan and Jando, and Arthur didn't trust her.

Then again, why let her interrogate Heather? If they really needed this information about the FBI, and they wanted to keep her out of what was happening, why not bring in another agent? Was there no time?

It suddenly hit Lydia. The FBI. Were they doing another transfer? It sounded ridiculous, but it might be possible. Not to mention that before they tried transferring Heather the first time, Arthur kept some of his plan hidden. No, that would be really stupid. He didn't actually mean to soon attempt a second handoff to the FBI. Surely not after what happened last time?

A dull tapping interrupted her train of reasoning, and she realized she stood in front of Heather's cell. Sylvia pointed at the door from the end of the hall and Lydia entered. Inside, Heather sat hunched on her bed, already handcuffed and masked. She lifted her gaze a little and leaned on the wall when Lydia sat down.

"No witty retort this time?" Lydia asked. Heather kept staring at the wall but scooted closer. Heather's skin had turned to white wax, and her hair was an unkempt tangle. She tilted forward, as if sick. "What's wrong? You about to throw up?" Lydia reached for her. "You look ready to fall down dead."

"Wouldn't that brighten your day?" Heather said, clearing the rasp from her throat. "If you're going to ask about the FBI, don't bother. I told her I don't know. Maybe Whyte does, maybe not."

"Well, is there anything else you can tell us?" Lydia asked. Heather's torso leaned closer, almost toppling her. "You were spilling everything last week. What happened?"

"Heard a little rumor," Heather said. "About some thoughtless idiot who, during one of her brain malfunctions, had to ignore my warning. She had to help some other idiot and now, if Whyte's person finds out I said anything more, I'm dead. So if you see her, smack her silly and ask her what happened."

"You know as well as I do that Whyte would've gotten to him," Lydia said. "That smoke guy alone could've slipped past. Then where would we be?"

"So everyone should die for one kid?"

"No, but this person has hidden well so far. Even if we managed to capture one of Whyte's people, they wouldn't give up anything on Whyte or his mole, would they?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Heather sat back. "And a convoluted series of accidents is much better?"

"At least it might trip the mole up."

"Unless they're patient and levelheaded," she said.

"Which they definitely would be if Cooper left without incident," Lydia said.

Lydia felt that this was going nowhere, and Sylvia seemed to share the sentiment. The door opened and she poked her head in. "That's enough. Out."

Lydia dragged her feet to the door, and Sylvia retrieved Heather's handcuffs and mask. "Has she been like that ever since?" Lydia asked.

"Yes," Sylvia said. "You're free to go." Lydia didn't have a chance to broach the subject of Cooper as Sylvia ushered her out. Lydia waved to the guard returning to his station and rode the elevator down to the first floor to visit Cooper.

She met Jando outside the hospital room. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she said, opening the door. She stopped when it was cracked and saw more people within. Wren was seated next to Nina and Cooper while Morella stood by his bedside. Wren chilled Cooper's soda until ice condensed on the surface, and Morella discussed swimming styles with Cooper. "What's he doing here?" She asked Jando.

He shrugged. "I don't know. He's come by a couple times." She squeezed the door handle, crunching the metal into her palm. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she said. "A little tired."

"Hey," he said, "why don't we have another movie night this weekend? Unwind a little."

Lydia eyed her roommate. While they were on speaking terms, Wren was still staying with Janice for the time being. The dorm bedroom was eerily quiet and lifeless most days. A little company would be nice, and it was a perfect opportunity to settle things. "Sure. This weekend." She entered Cooper's room.

"Hey, Lydia." Cooper sat up straighter in his bed and welcomed her over. She sat beside Wren on the edge of the mattress.

"You look better," she said.

"Better and stronger each day," he said, lifting his arms. "I'll be back in the water in no time. He was even offering to help me with physical therapy." He pointed at Morella.

"Yeah, I was the swim team's captain in high school," Morella said. "'Piston' Morella of the Glendale Yellow Jackets." He patted Cooper's leg. "I could show you a couple of tricks."

Lydia smiled politely with the rest. I'm sure you could, you slimy sack of—

"I'd better be going," he said. "Got some lazy guards to check on. Take it easy now." He left and Lydia relaxed.

"You're getting physical therapy?" she asked Cooper.

"Yeah," he said. "Barrett's orders. She may let me get out of this bed soon. I should be fine the week after next."

"And ready for his exam the week after," Nina said.

Both twins looked at Lydia, their silent question filling the air. "That's good to hear," Wren said, oblivious to the hidden worry. She nudged Lydia. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," she said and faced the twins head-on. "I'm sure everything will be fine. You'll be ready."

They both sighed in relief. "Thanks," he said. They chatted a while longer until Cooper grew sleepy and Lydia and Wren left them alone. They parted ways outside and Jando called to Lydia, "Don't forget. You and me, movie night this weekend."

"I won't." She gave Wren a reassuring smile and the girl caught on. Lydia headed to the Center's front desk to observe the receptionist once more.

* * *

The rest of the week progressed without incident. Lydia wasn't looking forward to her movie night with Jando. When he attended church with her, and Aidan slipped into the back in the middle of the service, that only reminded her more of how she felt about him, and of the upcoming discussion with Jando. Aidan had been appearing more often at the church services, whether she went on her own or with Jando, now that he usually accompanied her. Aidan always sat in the back, trying not to be noticed, yet fidgeting so much that he easily drew attention to himself, and that weekend was no different. However, Jando came down with a cold the same day, and so they postponed the date until Monday.

The same weekend, Lydia was rudely awoken close to midnight on Sunday night. She blinked, tired and grumpy at Sylvia, towering over her bed. "What? What is it?" she mumbled, propping up on her elbows, her eyes still closed.

"Get dressed," she said. "I need you to come with me."

Too miserable to argue and still half asleep, she grabbed the first pair of jeans and shirt from her dresser while Sylvia waited outside. Once she was ready, she followed Sylvia to the Center and up to Arthur's office. Lydia cursed his office lights and fell into a chair. Why did these meetings always have to be at inhuman hours? Arthur was nowhere to be seen, and Sylvia waited at his desk.

"What's going on?" Lydia finally asked.

"You'll find out when Arthur gets here."

She took a deep breath and rubbed the remaining traces of the sandman's crust off her eyelids. "Does it have to do with Heather?" Sylvia said nothing. "Are we transferring her again?"

"Very perceptive," Arthur said from the doorway. "Both of you, follow me." They rose and walked behind him as he led them to the first floor. Once outside the Center, he took a sharp turn to the airstrip. "I received a call from the FBI last week. They recovered a few bodies that weren't burnt to a crisp from the sawmill."

"Let me guess: they couldn't ID them?"

"Correct. Rogers has been working nonstop on it, but so far, nada. It's like they don't exist. No record of them anywhere."

"Whyte's doing?"

"Most likely." There was more to the story and she waited. "The FBI also wanted us to transfer Heather again by today."

"Why?"

"Orders from on high. It sounded odd to Rogers and me. We believe Whyte had a hand in this, too."

"I figured that's why you had me question Heather about the FBI." Lydia hung her head, crestfallen. "I did attract the mole."

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. All we can be sure of is that Whyte wants Heather and will go through any channels to get her."

"Sorry," she said. "I wanted to help Cooper."

"I know you did." He slowed his pace as they approached the strip, where a small crowd gathered beside Dilbert's plane. "Cheer up. Even if you attracted the mole, a golden opportunity fell into our lap."

"Really?"

"Yes," he said. "The preparations for her transfer were left up to me." He pointed out the crowd of people. Morella, Harper, the guards who survived the first transfer, Gary, and Dilbert. Only Barrett and Brentle were missing. A few recent guard hires stood at attention next to the plane. A new person, around his thirties, mingled with the crowd and kept his back to Lydia. His voice was loud and booming enough to wake the dead.

As her brain woke up further, she put the situation together. "All the people from the first transfer," Lydia said, counting them. "Process of elimination?"

"Yes," he said. "The only ones who know about Heather's transfer right now are those here. If we have another leak, we'll be able to trace it. We also have some new guards monitoring the Center and dorms and watching for anybody who shouldn't be up and around."

"But won't people wonder where Heather suddenly disappeared to?" she asked.

"We're going to stage a fake transfer later this morning by car. I'll have more people involved, and if there's a leak about the car transfer and not the plane transfer, we can narrow down our search." He halted short of earshot from the group and faced Lydia. "I had to leave you out because I couldn't afford anyone knowing. You understand?" She nodded. "Until we have a lead, we can't let the mole know we're onto them. I wanted you to be a part of this though. You've been helpful, and we need as many people watching for anything that goes wrong here. Don't make me regret this."

"I won't tell a soul," she said.

He called the group of people together. "Thank you for coming out here. Where's Dr. Barrett and Dr. Brentle?"

"Barrett is dealing with a former patient. Some medical emergency by phone," Gary said. He waved a manila folder. "She sent along her paperwork in case she's late." Sylvia exchanged a wary look with Arthur.

"My men are escorting Brentle from his office," Morella said. "He keeps shouting about a secret and a patent coming back with a bad stamp. He won't let them in."

"Well," Arthur said, clapping his hands, "we'll have to start without them. I'm sure you're all well aware of our guest, Heather, and what transpired last time we transferred her." A gloom settled over everyone and they bowed their heads. "I received a call from the FBI and they want to transfer her again. They believe there may have been a leak within their organization about their safe house." Lydia noticed he was careful not to mention the BEP Division either. "Therefore, this time, we're keeping this quiet and we'll fly her out. Rick volunteered to return early from his assignment and oversee the transfer."

The man turned at his name, flashed his teeth, and adjusted his ruby-tinted sunglasses. "No problem, sir!" he said loudly. "Always happy to serve justice to any ne'er-do-wells!" He saluted with two fingers and stepped out of the crowd. Surprises never ceased for Lydia, as the man's T-shirt and shorts revealed fleshy suction cups, like an octopus, in rows along the front of his legs and the undersides of his arms. Some of them sucked in, making an airy, kissing noise, and wiggled like jelly blobs.

"Lydia, I don't believe you've met Rick Bradford," Arthur said. "He's one of our BEP agents."

"I figured," she said, shaking Rick's hand.

"Lydia is one of our newer recruits," he said.

Rick flung her arm up and down, far too enthusiastic at such an early hour. "Yes, you've told me about her. Shaping up to be a real fine agent, I hear. It's a pleasure to meet a fellow agent, especially one such as yourself." He finally released her hand, but the spasms in her arm continued. "Warms my heart that younger people still want to protect and serve." He thumped his chest with his fist and breathed deeply, savoring the scent. Lydia looked at Arthur, wondering if Rick was aware of the situation about the mole. A brief nod confirmed it.

"I hear tell you're quite the powerhouse," Rick said.

"Yeah," she said. "And you can, uh..."

"Climb," he said, lifting one leg forward. "Stick to any surface. Bit awkward," he raised his arms, "but I manage."

Behind them, two security guards flanked a chained prisoner on either side with a black bag over her head. Arthur lifted the bag's front, revealing Heather to everyone. "So that all of you can verify it is Heather," he said, guiding her forward.

"Keep your eyes open," Sylvia whispered. The guards stayed right next to Heather, holding their rifles securely. Lydia watched Harper when he checked to see that it was indeed Heather, pulling down her filter and humming, and then marking in his file. She wondered what was keeping Barrett and Brentle.

"Have any problems?" Morella asked the guards. He patted Heather thoroughly from head to toe, searching the pockets of her jumpsuit and even digging his fingers in her socks and shoes.

"No, sir," one said.

Arthur leaned into one of the guards and pointed at Heather. The guard listened closely as Gary approached her. "Guess I'll just sign for Barrett and myself," he said, filling out his folder and Barrett's. He produced a bottle of tracking pills from his pocket and dumped one out. He lowered her mask and popped it into her surprised mouth. "There we go. Ready to keep our eye on you."

"No!" Arthur said, scaring everyone. "Spit it out!"

Flustered and confused, Gary held up his hand to her mouth. "Spit out the pill! Spit it!" She tongued it for a moment and spat the pill into his palm. Disgusted, he wiped the saliva on his shirt and gave the pill a fair shake. "What's wrong, Arthur? Barrett told me to give this to her."

"On the plane. We only have a couple for her and have to save them. These are expensive to make," he said quickly, snatching the pill and pill bottle from Gary and giving them to Rick. Lydia understood his fear. Whyte could be watching for the pill to show up and locate the Cave. What if he had managed that on the last transfer? Her nerves chilled at the thought.

"Do you have all the paperwork?" Arthur asked.

"Not all of it," Barrett said, powerwalking to the group and holding out a couple of sheets. Brentle was in tow, hunched into himself and wringing his hands. Whenever one of the two guards beside him touched him, he jerked away like a skittish creature. "Forgot these two," she said, stuffing them into one of the folders Gary held. Barrett grabbed Heather's face, checking her and giving her a quick once-over.

"Sorry about the pills," Gary said and handed over his paperwork. He stepped aside for Heather and Arthur. The crowd gave them a wide berth to the boarding steps, although a couple of the guards shot dirty looks at Heather. Those guards failed to step out of her way fast enough and bumped into her shoulder.

"Lost a lot of friends 'cause of her," one muttered. "Should just put one between her eyes." Arthur and Heather quickly brushed through the rest and to the stairs.

Dilbert waited at the top of the staircase, and before Heather stepped up, one of her guard escorts patted her down a second time. Sylvia and Lydia followed and stood on either side of the steps.

Heather turned to Lydia as the guard checked her legs. "Control your anger," she said. "Control your feelings and direct them at Whyte. Watch yourself. Danger is all around you." Her eyes widened and Lydia caught on. The mole was here. But who? Heather ascended the stairs and didn't look back. Dilbert welcomed her, Rick, and three young guards aboard. The steps were taken away and the door closed. They watched the fake rock wall at the end of the tarmac lower and the plane taxi down the runway and lift off.

The group dispersed after the plane left, with Arthur thanking everyone for coming and informing them about the fake transfer this morning. "It's a decoy that we hope will lure in whoever attacked us last time. Keep this a secret. We cannot afford to have a leak like the FBI did."

Lydia walked to the dormitories with Sylvia, and once they were far from anyone else, she relayed what Heather had signaled to her. Sylvia thought for a moment and then asked, "Does it mean anything to you? Some clue to identify the mole?"

Lydia ran through any hint in the phrasing, but she was too exhausted to think beyond the mole's being there. "No. I don't think so. But I'm sure she meant that the mole is one of them and she knew who it was. She probably couldn't say who because they were nearby. How could she know though?"

"Perhaps it was what someone said or did," Sylvia said. "I'll check the security footage and see if there's anything."

As they entered the dorms, Lydia attempted another apology. "Sorry again about all this."

"I am, too," Sylvia said. "You need to trust us that we know what we're doing. If I didn't think the discharge had a chance of working, I would've said so. Rick was going to lead the detail. He and the other two agents could've handled it."

"You should remember how bad it was," Lydia said. "That smoke guy could easily get around any security detail. Or that rock BEP. What if Whyte came against them worse than he did with us?"

"You seem to forget we made it out of the mill." She lifted her cast. "However beaten and bruised, we made it and left them battered. Worse even. We survived, same as we did in Golden Springs. We could've seen this through, too. We were ready and have more people to support us," she said. "Rogers, the local police, and trained BEP agents. Besides, Cooper was not as essential to Whyte as Heather, so he wouldn't have spared too much manpower coming after him."

"He was still in danger."

Sylvia stopped her on the stairs. "Every day in our line of work, people, bystanders, and BEPs are in danger or die. Especially when it comes to the Rogue BEP Brigade or rogue BEPs in general. You would be appalled by some of the murders by rogue BEPs or the occasional frightened people rallying against a BEP. We're all in danger, all the time. You have to understand that. We can't save and protect everyone. I wish we could, but we can't. We can only do our best and protect as many as possible. Some will die. That's not your fault. Do you remember what BEP stands for?"

"Biologically Enhanced Person," Lydia said.

"Right. Person. For all our abilities, we're still human. At the same time, while we may not be able to save everyone, you can bet I and every agent would give our lives to protect Cooper or anyone else, as I'm sure you would. They would've brought Cooper back safe, no matter if that smoke guy or the rock BEP came after him. If they had to face impossible odds to do that, they would have gone down fighting and used their last breath to return him here. If I could've been on the detail, I would have done the same in a heartbeat. You have to believe we care. We also have to care about everyone else, too."

Lydia sighed. She did believe her. "I know." Sylvia escorted her back to her room, and before she entered, Lydia asked, "What if something happens to the plane?"

"Dilbert and Rick are supposed to report regular updates to Arthur. Rick will handle things," she said. "Despite his boisterous nature, he's capable and has a good head. He can be a bit brash though. Kind of like you, but he's very experienced." She opened Lydia's dorm room door for her. "Look, I know both Whyte and this whole situation have you scared. We're all scared. Yet we have to stay strong and work together to face whatever else Whyte throws at us, okay?"

"Okay. I will."

She scooted Lydia inside. "Get some rest. Good night."

"Good morning."

"Right, morning," she said with a chuckle. Then she left and Lydia fell into bed.
Chapter 21- Confession

Mark paced the entire length of his cell, avoiding the sagging, itchy cot. His neck and back were sore, as nobody provided a pillow for him. When he did sit on the cot, he sat on the edge and leaned against the wall. The toilet he used as little as possible, as a nasty smell emanated from deep in the pipes when he flushed it.

He had searched every inch of the windowless room and found it sealed tight. No weakness he could expose, unless he tricked someone into leaving the door open. Although they never did enter. Someone brought him three meager meals of a sandwich, a piece of fruit, and water each day and slid it through a slot at the bottom of the door. Counting the numbers of meals was the only way he kept track that it was Saturday night. His only method of maintaining his sanity when the walls closed in like an iron coffin. He sometimes called to the person, begging to speak to Whyte. He was always ignored.

Mark slid down to the floor, kicking himself for not listening to Heather. He would never escape the base now. This fake oil rig would be his resting place. He supposed as soon as they had Heather and what they wanted, they would jettison his cell and leave him on the ocean floor with Frieda. He could only hope that Heather survived this whole affair and escaped. A small victory, one he would gladly take. He crawled into the cot and, like every night, lay there for a long while, fearing he might not wake the next day .

Early the next morning, at breakfast time, a loud chunk stirred his sleep. He clung to his cot, expecting the worst. A sudden jolt and sinking to the Pacific's bottom. However, Whyte, Valerie, and Roy entered. Whyte tossed him a fresh shirt and jeans. "Get dressed and follow me."

A helicopter waited up top for them, and they flew to a private air field in Oregon. Roy tried his best to ease Mark's gnawing dread, offering a smile or a kind word here or there, but nothing helped.

Once they reached Oregon, they rendezvoused with the rest of Whyte's BEPs and boarded a small plane. They seated Mark in the cabin beside everyone else, and after the plane took off, Whyte spoke to his people. "We'll meet Emeryl north of Harrison," he said, laying out of a map of Michigan on a table. "I bought a couple of cabins out there, far from any prying eyes."

Mark wondered why Whyte was so open with his plans, especially after what he had done. Fear seized his heart. What if Whyte didn't care if he, Mark, heard or not? What if he wasn't planning on Mark staying alive long enough to tell anyone? Cabins far from prying eyes. Dump his body there, never to be found. But the vast ocean was more viable, with its depths and host of predators to devour him whole, leaving no trace of evidence. No, there was something major going on that Mark didn't understand.

When they landed in Michigan, Emeryl plus a few cars waited for them. Nearby, a few combat-ready helicopters were stored in a hangar, all jet-black of a sleek military design. One had large gun barrels mounted to the sides, machine guns that looked like they could rip a target to pieces. The other two had larger attachments, and it took Mark a second to realize they were equipped with rockets. Several mercenaries were readying them for flight. "Everything prepped?" Whyte asked.

"Yes. My people are at the cabins and waiting for your orders," he said.

Emeryl and everyone from the plane piled into the cars. Mark was shoved into one with Oliver and Lionel, of all people, and they drove for miles to an endless wooded area. Even though he wasn't blindfolded, Mark couldn't remember their way, for all the trees looked the same to him. Long after nightfall, they turned onto a hidden driveway and traveled for twenty more minutes to a couple of lit cabins.

They stepped out and fifty mercenaries greeted them. The warm, friendly glow from within the cozy wooden cabins clashed with the few APCs and dozen Humvees with turrets parked outside. Next to them were semitrailer trucks with their back doors open, waiting to be loaded.

"Okay, people," Whyte said, calling them all together and taking the tracking device they used during the last transfer from his car. "Gather 'round. Just to remind you all that Heather will have left the Cave and is being transferred by now." He checked his watch. "I got a call on our way here that the BEP Division decided to send her by plane. Thanks to some help from inside the BEP Division, she'll get control of the plane by taking her guards hostage, and then she'll force them to ground in northern Michigan. We'll find her," he said, holding up the tracking device, "and you'll follow behind us. We need to get to her fast and quick once the plane lands. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they yelled.

"Good. Load up your stuff and let's go."

The whole situation was a whirlwind for Mark, and the mercenaries loaded weapons and large black bags into two APCs and several Humvees, which they in turn loaded into the semitrailers. The rumbling engines of all the vehicles and shouts everywhere jolted any thoughts of sleep far away. What did they plan to do to Heather? Among Emeryl barking orders at his people and everyone running around, Mark found Oliver next to the cars they arrived in. "Oliver?"

"Yes, Mark?"

"What's going on? Where are we going?" The ground rumbled as a vehicle larger and sturdier than any APC passed them and Mark squinted in the dark, asking "Is that a tank?!"

"Yup. And Whyte arranged for Heather to be transferred again," he said.

Mark crossed his arms. "How do they plan for her to ground a plane?"

"Like he said, with some help from our inside person, she'll take control of it. Whyte had two plans ready, depending on if they sent her by car again or by plane. Once we find the plane, then we take her." Oliver grinned and shook his head. "Man, whoever's guarding her has no idea what's in store for them."

"What are they going to do with her once they take her?" he asked. An APC rolled past and drove into a semitrailer. "And what's with all this? It looks like we're going to war."

Oliver's smile grew. "I don't want to spoil it for you. Wait and see."

Mark considered running and taking his chances in the woods. However, the surrounding trees shrouded all paths beyond the cabin lights, and he couldn't have found his way through the shadowed forest if he tried.

They climbed into the cars again, and the semitrailer trucks drove along with them. Once the convoy returned to the main road, the trucks split off from the cars. They drove for hours north, passing towns in the distance. One of Whyte's combat helicopters joined them during the journey, swooping past the convoy every so often.

The rising morning sun found Whyte's part of the convoy on a quiet road, with fields on either side. Ahead, Whyte's car turned sharply onto the grass, and Mark's car followed. They stopped on a hill and stepped out.

Down below them rested a small, white plane, its nose buried in the dirt, and a pair of deep wheel tracks behind it. In the boarding door, Heather sat with a pistol in her lap and watched them walk down the hill and step over the torn-up earth. Mark ran a little ahead, but Whyte caught his shoulder.

"Heather," he said. "Wonderful you could make it. Any problems?"

"No," she said. A pair of unlocked handcuffs lay beside her with the key in the lock.

"And the others onboard?" He looked around her into the interior.

"Dead," she said, standing up. "Had to throw them out of the plane. The pilot escaped but he won't get far. Shot him in the stomach." A semitrailer truck parked beside the cars on the hill and several mercenaries and an APC poured out.

"Which way?" Whyte asked.

"North," she said.

Whyte ordered the APC in that direction to hunt down the pilot. Then he nodded to Heather. "Well done."

"Now it's time you hold up your end of the deal," she said. "Let Mark go."

Whyte clucked his tongue and wagged a finger. "Ah, ah, ah. Remember, you have to help me take down the BEP Division first." He pushed Mark into Valerie and Lionel. "Then I might let him go." Heather gritted her teeth and clenched her pistol but didn't raise it. Whyte passed her a change of clothes, and then he directed the other mercenaries to search the plane for anything valuable or useful about the BEP Division. When they found nothing, Whyte ordered them to blow it up. "I want nothing left of it," he said. "Afterward, catch up to us. The rest of you, let's go."

Again, Mark was in the car, but Heather insisted on riding in the same car with him. Whyte joined them, holding up his tracker. "Right, so we know the Cave is in a mountain. That narrows it down. The pill in your system should be gone by the time we cross into the upper peninsula," he said. "Emeryl, call our base and get us the path the plane took."

While Emeryl made a quick phone call, Whyte called his inside person and told them, "We got her. You'll know when we're there." Once he hung up, he said, "The BEP Division will never see us coming."

Heather and Mark exchanged looks and he trembled. That was the surprise? An all-out attack on the BEP Division? He wanted to believe it wasn't true, but Heather's eyes told him otherwise. His stomach churned and she patted his leg. He scooted closer to her and enjoyed the short sweet peace afforded to him as the armed helicopter flew overhead.

* * *

Wren formed an ice cube and slapped it onto her forehead. "It's so hot!" she whined. The air-conditioning in the Cave was on the fritz, and Lydia sat beside her in the game room, fanning herself. She held out her hand and Wren passed her a new ice cube. It was cool and refreshing as it melted fast onto Lydia's cheeks and neck.

So far, Rick's last report had been normal, and that had been when Lydia woke up. The heat killed her initiative to track anyone today, much less move. Instead, she had spent the morning debating with Jando, Aidan, Wren, and Donny about, of all things, which was better: cakes or pies?

Donny had sided with both her and Wren in favor of cakes. "They have multiple layers and frosting." He slapped a hand into his palm for emphasis.

"Pie goes great with ice cream," Jando said.

"So does cake," Wren countered. "And there's so many kinds of cake."

"There's more flavors of pie—and better ones," Aidan said.

Lydia shook her head. "Pies suck. You know why people throw pies in comedies? Because they're upset they didn't get cake instead. 'Get rid of this nasty pie and get me cake!'" She pretended to throw one, and the debate fizzled into an agree-to-disagree. They were left hot and hungry. Aidan wandered off in search of food, and Jando and Donny returned to their rooms. Lydia lazed about and watched a cartoon with Wren, half chuckling every once in a while.

Wren let her ice melt and dribble down her face to her lips, and she lapped it up. Lydia held out her wet hand again, and Wren created another cube and tossed it to her. She did the same, sticking the ice cube on her forehead, and the cold on her brow was immediately refreshing. "Thanks," she said, with a groggy mumble.

"No problem."

Jando burst in with far too much energy for the heat. "And how are my two favorite ladies? Sweltering?" he asked, running his fingers through Lydia's hair plastered to her forehead. She brushed him off.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Lydia asked.

"Relaxing in the dorms with the just-fixed and working AC." In the blink of an eye, Wren dashed off to the dorm. Lydia stretched and couldn't wait to be under a cool vent again herself.

"Thanks for letting us know."

Jando helped her up. "Got anything planned today?"

"Not really. Veg out in bed. Why?"

He shrugged. "Well, I figure as long as you're vegging, we could make up for not having the movie night last night."

She tilted her head. "You sure you're up to it? If you're still queasy, we can do it later."

"I'm all right."

"Then yeah," she said. Might as well bite the bullet now. "Let's go."

They headed to his room this time, as Lydia didn't want Wren walking in on them like before. Jando had already picked out a drama and popped in the DVD. He sat beside Lydia on his bed and before the opening credits even finished, he was already going in for a kiss.

"Jando," she said, ducking underneath a pass, "we need to talk."

"About what?"

"About this," she said. She paused the movie and held his forehead still. She took a deep breath, already preparing for the backlash to follow. How did she say this to that innocent expression and shatter it to pieces? Despite all the expectation for this conversation, she had not thought of a good way to broach the subject. "I haven't been honest with you," she said, treading lightly. "About us dating." His playful smile drooped as the meaning dawned on him, and already a hole pierced her chest. Going soft wasn't working and she panicked, dumping out the rest in a frenzy. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't think you'd actually take this seriously. It's just—I figured you'd break up with me and move on after a couple of weeks." She dropped her hand and he sat there, stunned and silent. "Sorry."

The air-conditioning blew in its quiet corner, building into a fierce hurricane, and the television's buzzing was like angry bees, welling in the pit of Lydia's stomach and caught up in the commotion as she watched Jando's face. His bewildered eyes flicked from side to side, lost in thought and surely a mix of emotions like hers. His shoulders sagged and Lydia's throat felt dry. He was broken. She had seriously hurt him. She offered another tentative apology. "I'm sorry." He raised his head to her. "I really am. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't want to." She couldn't bear to look at him anymore and hung her own head.

Much to her surprise, he lifted her chin and wore a small half grin. "I'm glad you said it," he said. "If you didn't, I was going to."

Her mind froze in place and she gawked at him. "What?"

"I didn't think this was working out," he said. "It's not you. You're great. I'm just not feeling any spark, you know? I thought there was something at first. Now, nothing really. But I didn't want to say anything and hurt you."

"Wait, so you're not mad?"

"Oh, I'm mad," he said, huffing and crossing his arms. "I don't like being used and I expect you to make up for it."

"Fair enough," she said. "I will."

"But," he patted her hand and held tight, "at the same time, I'm relieved. I've been thinking nonstop of how to let you down gently and couldn't bring myself to do it."

"Why?" she asked. "Not like you haven't done it to other girls."

He rubbed his neck and looked at the ceiling. "True, but it's not the same with you. You're different."

"How?"

He pursed his lips and puffed out short breaths for several moments. "Dating you was special," he said. "It was better than with other girls. I like spending time with you, even if it's not something more. It felt like we were close and not, at the same time. Am I making sense?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's like dating a good friend."

"Exactly," he said. "Which you are. But when we kissed, the spark wasn't there. Not that you're a bad kisser," he added, "but I didn't feel a connection. It was one half of a perfect combination. All I need is the spark, the fire."

"Well, maybe if you weren't so frivolous with your relationships," she said.

He pushed her. "Hey, I do think long and hard about who I date."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I mean beyond who looks good in tight jeans."

"Jean appearance is very important," he said and his smile returned. "You must ensure the end justifies the jeans." She bit down a laugh, snorting instead, and he added, "But I do seriously consider who I date."

"And you've never experienced that closeness before?"

He bobbed his head side to side. "Once. Back in Brazil, I was with a girl when I was small. We were really close friends and liked one another. It was heading toward more. When I moved here, things kind of broke off. I was upset, but looking back on it, it was better for the both of us. We still keep in touch, and she's found a guy she really loves." He shrugged. "Guess after what happened with that, my dad, and all this time, I kind of forgot how nice it was to be close to someone like that."

"Sounds like you're ready to settle down," she said.

He blew a raspberry at the notion. "There's still plenty of miles on this engine." He flexed his arms and flashed a charming set of teeth. "Although I might put more thought into which station I pull into and which passengers I let board...and this metaphor went bad real quick."

She laughed. "You could say it went off the rails."

"Oh, look at you. Quite the wit," he said, shoving her lightly. "Anyway, if you know any girls that are interested—of course, all of them are interested— okay, any single girls, would you—"

"Tell them to keep their distance? Of course," she said.

He clutched his chest and hissed, standing and swaggering about the room. "I poured my heart out to you, laid it bare. Why do you pierce it so with your thorny words? This is the least you can do for me! I thought you were going to make it up to me."

She laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him to her. "Okay, okay. If I think of someone, I will. You be sure to treat her right though."

He held his hand over his chest. "On my honor." Then a curious look grew in his eyes. "By the way, who's the guy?"

"What guy?"

He rolled his eyes. "Who do you think you're talking to? I know this game. If you were pretending to like me, you were trying to make someone jealous." He crouched and stared her down, rubbing his chin. "Aidan?" Before she opened her mouth, he clapped his hands. "It is, isn't it? I had a feeling about you two."

How does everyone know? she wondered.

"It's written all over your face," he said, reading her thoughts. She cursed the heat rising to her cheeks, determined to work on a better poker face, while Jando continued on. "Oh, so you're who he asked out a while ago. I remember he dragged himself in like he was rejected hard, but he wouldn't say by who." Then he returned to Lydia's deception. "What was the plan? Make him jealous? Have him leave Dariela?"

"Not exactly," she said. She explained her suspicions about Dariela and Aidan. "Something doesn't add up about the whole thing."

"Yeah," he said. "She doesn't seem his type. Then again, I wouldn't peg him as your type."

"That's because you think you're every woman's type."

"I'm not necessarily not their type," he said. "Oh well. The heart wants what the heart wants, I guess."

"You're his roommate," she said. "Do you know anything about them? Anything that could give me a clue? Where the letters they send each other are? In some hidden drawer in the nightstand or in a secret hiding place?"

He held his chin in his palm and glanced around the room. It was much like Lydia and Wren's room with a fine line drawn between Jando's and Aidan's belongings on either side. "He's really secretive about them. I think he's usually reading them late at night with a penlight when he thinks I'm asleep. I've caught him a couple of times and he always says he's doing homework, but homework under his sheets? Pretty lame excuse." Jando looked to Aidan's bed on the right and snapped his fingers. "Wait, I may have an idea," he said.

He lifted the blanket and top sheet of Aidan's bed. "He changes his sheets regularly," he said, lifting each sheet except the fitted sheet. He swept his arm up to his shoulder along its length, reaching deep into the fitted sheet. "I thought he was a germ freak or drank too much water before bed, but maybe— A-ha!" His hand grasped something and he produced a small collection of letters addressed to Aidan from Dariela.

Lydia snatched the letters and held them up in triumph. "I could kiss you."

"I wouldn't mind." He offered his cheek. "A breakup kiss?" She pecked his cheek and hugged him. "And one more for the road?"

"You're incorrigible," she said. Then she sat on his bed and opened the first letter while he straightened Aidan's sheets, making them nice and tidy.

She skimmed through the casual conversation, reading silently to herself Dariela's talk about life outside the Cave, her obsession with their abilities, and how she missed Aidan. "No car equals nowhere to go. I'm bored here and it's hot. I wish I was there with you." Lydia jumped to the next paragraph. "Are there any people with really weird superpowers?" Dariela asked. "Like vomit cannons or people who can remove their eyes?" At the bottom, she signed, "I'll visit soon. Love ya. Dariela."

Lydia flipped the paper over, searching for more. She held it up, peering through the letter. No instructions, no hidden messages about Lydia, nothing. Was there another method for a secret message? "You said he always reads these at night with a light?"

"Yeah," he said.

Turning off the lights and shutting the blinds, she fished out Aidan's penlight from his dresser and shined it over the letter. No good. "Kind of dark in here," Jando said in a suggestive tone.

"Shut up," she said, smirking and flipping on the lights. She opened the next letter and it was more of the same. Talk between two people in a long-distance relationship. "Once you're an agent, do you get vacation time? Can you visit whenever you want? Since they don't give you a gun, do you get a taser or something until then?"

"Find anything?" Jando asked, picking up the first letter.

"No," she said, turning to the last envelope. She prayed this one held something. But like the other two, there was nothing hinting at subterfuge. The only mention of Lydia was, "We're coming to see Lydia and you soon." She dropped the letter in her lap and searched the envelope and dumped anything else out. A small torn corner of another paper floated out. Picking it up and peering closely at it, she couldn't identify the bit of paper. Wax paper? A dryer sheet? That was all there was in the envelope. She rested her forehead on a balled fist. They had to be corresponding with each other, sending secret messages about how to manipulate her.

How though?

Maybe this little paper corner held a clue? Or maybe not. How else did they plan their deception so well? It had to have relied on constant communication beyond the monthly visits. No phone, no email, nothing except the letters. There had to be something private, some hidden method they used to talk to each other through the letters.

How though?

As she studied the letters again and again, she frowned, and a pang of guilt welled up. She had already hurt people close to her in her chase to prove the false relationship. Here she was, having already rummaged through his belongings, and now she was pushing further and skulking behind Aidan's back, reading his private letters, abusing his trust. She wasn't even sure her suspicions were right anymore. Jealousy and obsession had clouded her thinking thus far, and she had not one solid piece of evidence to show for her efforts. What if only one of them were behind this idea of their dating, stringing the other along like she had with Jando? It certainly reeked of Dariela's plan, but she couldn't be sure if it was. And what about Aidan? Did he willingly go along with the deception?

Or were they both authentic with their dating? It had been a while since Lydia first entered the Cave and when she saw her friend. Maybe Dariela changed. As for Aidan? A rebound? Or perhaps he experienced a better match with Dariela that rapidly evolved, compared to his attraction to Lydia.

She stopped Jando from browsing through the letters and stuffed them into their envelopes. "Put them back," she said.

"Why? Did you find something?"

She shook her head. "No." He gave her a strange look. "And that's the point. I haven't found anything concrete. All I have are suspicions." She fanned the envelopes. "And this was the last option." She let them fall through her hand. "I guess what they have is real." It was hard to admit it out loud.

Jando set the letters aside and pulled her head to his chest. No subtle pinches, no wandering hands, only a warm embrace. "I should've gone after him when I had the chance," she said. "I was stupid."

"Hey, these things are complicated," Jando said. "Live and learn." He rubbed her back, which soothed her distressed thoughts. She leaned into his warmth and turned to look up at him.

"I should at least let him know," she said. "He deserves that much."

Jando grimaced and scrunched his face. "I don't know about that. If Dariela and him are serious, that'll interfere with them and put all of you at odds." He was right, of course. It wasn't fair to either of them, and the revelation didn't have her thinking straight. But she didn't want to bear the weight of an affection realized too late by herself. As if he read her mind, he added, "It's not easy, but it's right."

She nodded and pulled away from the gentle comfort. Right now, she wanted to be alone. "Thanks," she said and shuffled to the door.

"Hey," he said. She looked over her shoulder and he sighed. "Take care. I'll be here if, you know, you need anything."

"Thanks," she said again and left the room and dormitories. She ambled to the Center, heading for a training room. She needed to escape her mind for a while, focus on something easy to handle. Else she would be trapped with herself pulled in two different directions. One dreading to bottle her feelings and desperate to tell all to Aidan, and the other, reasonable side that knew Jando's words rang true.

The first envisioned harbored regret down the road for not expressing herself. Unhappily, she would watch Aidan and Dariela and wonder what could have been.

The second side dispelled such fear-mongering nonsense and encouraged her that time would heal her heartache. However much pain would result, she would pull through. And she had help if she needed it. It was also the best option for her friends. She owed them that and she should put their happiness first.

As she opened a training room door, Aidan waved to her from down the hall. "Hey," he said. "Been looking for you."

"I was with Jando," she said. She thought his mouth twitched and for a moment, imagined jealousy hiding beneath his straight lips. She shook the notion away. No more chasing shadows. "What's up?"

"I need to, well," he said, looking to the ceiling and scratching his scalp, "can I ask something?"

"Sure." As he stood there trying to begin his question, she had the strongest desire to confess to him and considered telling all that had happened.

As the words clung to the tip of her tongue, reaching for her lips, the intercoms in the hall crackled to life. "This is an emergency alert. All activities for the day are suspended until further notice. All BEPs are to return to their rooms. This is not a drill. Would Lydia Penner please report to Arthur Staffe's office. This is an emergency alert."
Chapter 22- Advancing Army

Sylvia waited in Arthur's office and brought Lydia and Aidan to the ready room, making no fuss about Aidan's joining Lydia. Inside, Arthur stared at a geographical map of the surrounding area on a large screen and chatted with a few people on computers. At the center table, security guards loaded their weapons and stood at attention, ready for orders. Scattered folders of emergency procedures lay splayed open on the table.

"What's going on?" Lydia asked, peering at the map. One of the technicians drew a red circle on his computer screen, and it popped up onto the map screen.

"Rick failed to check in on time," Arthur said. "A few minutes ago, we received a call from Dilbert. Heather escaped."

Lydia's and Aidan's jaws dropped. "Escaped?" she said. "How does she 'escape' from a plane? It's in the air! There is no 'escape'!"

"She got out of her handcuffs. Had a key hidden on her," he said as the technician wrote 20–30 minutes beside the circle and traced a path to the mountain in the center. "Got the jump on the security. Knocked all but one out, used him as a hostage, and forced Dilbert to land the plane."

"The mole," she said and Arthur nodded. "Do you know who it is?"

"We're still reviewing the security footage from this morning," Sylvia said. "It's difficult to make out if some people slipped her a key or anything else."

"What about the others? Are they all right?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "Strangely, she spared them and let them leave the plane. Rick and two guards are injured, but they'll live." Lydia let out a relieved breath. Maybe Heather had been influenced by her talk and this place after all. "However, that's not the worst news." Immediately, her earlier tension replaced the relaxation she'd been feeling. "Dilbert saw Whyte and the people who attacked you at the mill pick her up. They destroyed the plane shortly after and, according to Heather's last-known location from her tracking pill, they seem to be on their way here."

"Wait, how are they on their way here?" Lydia asked. "I thought the mole didn't know where the Cave is."

"We're not sure yet," Sylvia said. "My money is on calculating our transfers and the distance and time."

"Or is one of the guards the mole?" Aidan suggested.

Arthur shook his head. "I doubt it. But we don't know for sure. All we do know is that they're coming this way. We're working with the assumption that the mole is still here and that Whyte has a good idea where we are."

The red numbers and circle now made sense to Lydia and she gulped. Half an hour at most to prepare for an attack? Arthur turned from the screen and to the soldiers on standby. "According to Dilbert, Whyte's forces are heavily armed. Vehicles, helicopters, the works. Estimates number them around twenty at the least, but we're expecting much more."

"While we have forty guards strong with small arms," Sylvia said, grimacing. Lydia didn't like the odds either.

Arthur ordered a technician to contact the FBI. "Tell them to send all the help they can. And recall all our agents. We need as many people as possible."

"Put out an international call to the other BEP Divisions as well," Sylvia said. "Maybe we'll get lucky and someone can send backup."

Arthur pointed to two of the guards, and then unfurled a map of the Cave on the table. "I want everyone on alert and fully equipped. Focus your attention and defenses on the front entrance," he said, tapping the map. They saluted and left.

"It's unlikely that Whyte knows about the escape routes," Sylvia said.

"Yes, unlikely," he said. He let the worrisome other end hang awkwardly in the air. On the other hand, the mole could've told Whyte about the routes.

"We need to find the mole," Arthur said. "Find out firsthand what Whyte is doing." Turning to Sylvia and another guard, he said, "Bring everyone from the transfer this morning to the holding cells."

"Including Barrett and Brentle?" she asked. Arthur startled and leaned on the table, staring at a folder opened to threat alerts. Sylvia walked around the table and crouched to his level, looking up. "Sir?"

He flared his nostrils and gritted his teeth. "Yes. That includes them as well." She left right away, and he faced the last two guards. "We need to start the evacuation procedure all the same. BEPs and nonessential personnel first. Don't leave until I say so." He rubbed his chin, murmuring to himself. "Assign half the guards to escort them."

"Half?" Aidan said. "Are you trying to cut off our legs before this even starts?"

"No," Arthur said. "But they'll need protection if they run into Whyte's forces. Round up any adult volunteers with weapon or combat experience. Anyone willing to fight, have them help. Eisenberg," he said to one of the guards. "I'm putting you in charge. Got it?"

"Sir, shouldn't we confirm that Whyte doesn't know about the emergency routes first?" Eisenberg asked.

"If we don't do anything, those people will be caught in the crossfire here," Whyte said. "We'll have to chance it. All the same, wait for my order to leave. If they do know about the routes, we may be able to distract them and cover you."

Lydia stepped up and offered to help Sylvia. "We'll be back afterward." Arthur didn't acknowledge her. He rocked on his knuckles and dug them deep into the wooden table. She ushered Aidan out the door, avoiding any outburst and escaping as soon as Arthur punched the table.

* * *

Whyte's convoy passed into the upper Michigan peninsula and made a beeline for the Huron Mountain Range. Dense forest shrouded the range, and every time they climbed to a high point, Mark saw emerald and pale-green trees as far as the eye could see. The semitrailer truck from the plane had caught up to them, with no news to report on Dilbert. The rest of the helicopters from the airport had joined at some point before they crossed into the peninsula. They flew at a steady pace above the vehicles, scouting ahead now and then for any sign of trouble.

Whyte kept his nose in the tracker as they neared the range, murmuring with Emeryl and looking at a map of Michigan they had drawn on. The Overwatch base had captured a satellite image of Heather's plane and the direction it was pointed in that morning. "So my inside person said the first transfer in the armored trucks left and got back to the Cave..." Whyte had said to himself, jotting down some times, doing quick math, and tracing the first transfer's route on the map. "As for the plane..." he began, taking more notes and traces.

Mark didn't understand why Whyte bothered to keep an eye on the tracker, as Heather's pill had long ago worn off. He wondered if Whyte was tracking something else. Perhaps his inside person had taken a pill? Heather seemed to suspect the same, as she gave a knowing eye to Mark, and then Whyte every once in a while.

She patted Mark and pushed him a little so he fell back into the seat. She raised her head, showing that a lump had built under her scarf during their travel. A small one, not enough to kill both Whyte and Emeryl. But perhaps enough to control. Mark dared to hope that this might work. He flattened against his seat and covered his nose and mouth as she leaned forward quickly.

Whyte was faster and drew a pistol on her. "You're testing my patience," he said. "Next time, I'll stop the car and call Lionel." He looked at Mark, who turned elsewhere. Heather sat back and gazed out the window.

They soon stopped near one mountain on their left and Whyte raised the tracker. He aimed at the mountain, waited for several minutes, spun to his right, and then southeast. "Go," he said. "Slowly." Emeryl obeyed, and they wound around bends to other mountains, repeating the same pattern. They finally arrived in front of a particular one, taller than any so far. Again, Whyte had him stop and aimed the tracker at it. A small dot blipped on the screen and he smiled. "Gotcha."

* * *

It took longer than expected to round up most of the suspects. Lydia recruited Jando to help, but Arthur recalled Sylvia and the teenagers before they had even half of them. One guard was escorting Barrett, who smoked nonstop and muttered under her breath about how ridiculous the suspicion on her was. Several guards and personnel were unaccounted for, as were Harper and Morella. Brentle had locked himself in his office, and they had radioed for someone to break down the door.

"Find Harper and Morella. I want them here now," Sylvia ordered a guard as she left.

At least fifteen volunteers had been recruited and were issued weapons in the Center. Scores of personnel and BEPs were escorted out of the Center and to waiting vehicles by the fake wall at the end of the landing strip outside. Lydia searched for any sign of people she knew among those waiting to leave, but she didn't see any. Some BEPs refused to leave, wanting to stand and fight. Several escaped the guards and a few younger ones refused to budge, thinking the whole situation was a game, and had to be caught and dragged to the cars.

Lydia and the others returned to the ready room, where Arthur leaned over a computer and pointed at the screen. "We have a convoy outside the Cave," he said as several moving red dots trailed along the screen. "Short-range radar picked them up a few minutes ago."

"Whyte?" Lydia asked.

"It has to be, but how does he know which mountain?" he asked. "How could he find us? We've checked the phones. No recent calls in or out."

"How come the radar only now picked their exact location?" Aidan asked. "I thought you said Heather was being tracked. Shouldn't we have seen her movements?"

"The tracking pill only works for a few hours," Arthur said. He asked the technician to pull up another window. "We already checked it twenty minutes ago, and it had worn off. See?" However, he paused as a tiny dot showed up on the center of the map screen, blinking at a steady pace.

"That's inside the Cave," Sylvia whispered.

Arthur rounded on two security guards and Sylvia. "Get down there now. You," he said, turning to the technician, "track that signal. Where's it coming from?"

"First floor, sir," he said.

Sylvia grabbed a couple of walkie-talkies and tossed one to Arthur. Lydia and the boys followed after her. They ran down a set of emergency stairs, setting off another alarm to mix with the droning emergency message repeating through the intercom. "Where is it, Arthur?" Sylvia asked.

"Looks like it's coming from the kennels. Is that right? The kennels?" There was white noise for a moment, then he said, "Yeah, that's where."

"Why there?" Jando asked. Lydia shook her head and ran faster. Within minutes, they reached the kennels. Sylvia hooked the walkie-talkie to her belt and slipped her good hand in her glove. She drew her pistol, positioned the guards around the door, and counted to three. On three, the guards burst in first with rifles drawn. Sylvia aimed her pistol forward and the teenagers waited outside.

"I don't see anyone," Sylvia said. The dogs barked and growled nonstop, challenging the armed intruders. Several cats hissed as they passed by. "Where is it?"

"Should be on your right," he said. They were a third of the way inside. "Stop. Turn to your right." She aimed her pistol at an empty cage on the top row, and then the bottom row. She holstered her gun, unlocked the cage, and reached in, pulling out a small, excitable dog.

"Petey?" Lydia asked. The dachshund barked and licked Sylvia's neck.

"Arthur, it's a puppy," she said. "Someone fed the puppy a pill."

Arthur cursed and yelled at someone on the other end. "Where's the report from this morning about the transfer?" Silence. "Were there any missing pills? You're not sure? Then go find out and make sure."

A guard's call interrupted Arthur's end. "I have a man down near the laboratories. Need assistance. Over."

Another guard came in on the line. "Two men down by the restrooms. One's still alive, barely. Need an EMT. Witness say the shooter fled outside. Over."

Loud alarms blared through the facility, building into a constant shrill, and a third person interrupted on Arthur's end. All the ringing noise pierced Lydia's brain, and a fierce migraine pounded her skull like a drill. "Mr. Stafe!" a distant voice called. "On the screen!"

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

The voice grew louder. "Someone's opening the Cave doors!"

Ice ran through Lydia's spine and Sylvia dropped Petey. He kept bounding up to everyone, barking for attention and running in circles. "What?" Arthur asked.

"The Cave doors are open!"

* * *

Mark tried the door lock, carefully, quietly, and opened the door. Whyte looked back at him and Mark said, "Need some fresh air." He stayed buckled in his seat and left the door open. Whyte turned around and he waited, gauging the best opportunity to run. His fingers hovered over the buckle, his thumb quivering above the button. Heather was shaking her head, and he jerked a thumb to the thick foliage nearby. She continued refusing, but they had to try. The helicopters' guns and rockets were primed and ready, and he could feel Lionel in the car behind them staring right at him, itching for a chance to choke the life out of him.

He put one foot on the ground and then the other. Mark breathed the cool air deeply and dipped down. He had to do this.

Before the convoy, a great mechanical whirring noise and ¬click-click-clanks interrupted his plan. Two disguised panels in the mountainside just off the road drew open with a thunderous boom! right before them, leaving a hole wide enough for a large vehicle to enter. Outside, he heard cheering and hollering. Whyte smiled and nodded to Emeryl. "Let's go. Can't keep them waiting. Shut the door, Mark." The boy looked longingly at the freedom at his fingertips and, with a heavy heart, closed the door. The APCs and tank left their semitrailers, falling in line behind the Humvees, and then the convoy rolled forward and into the tunnel carved in the mountainside.

"Get ready, everyone," Whyte said over his walkie-talkie. "Find and take Lydia alive. Leave Arthur for me. As for everybody and everything else: go nuts." Then to Heather and Mark, "I'll be watching."
Chapter 23- Wanted Alive

"The Cave doors are open! They're inside the tunnel!" Sylvia's walkie-talkie crackled again.

The sanctity of the Cave was broken. Nobody could process that. The Cave had been a refuge away from Whyte and his ilk, even with the mole disturbing their safety. It was a fact they had all taken comfort in whenever they left the compound. It was a haven and would be waiting for them, to tuck them away safe and secure from the evils of the world outside, a place to permit a breather in between dealing with rogue BEPs. That safe space had been breached, and there was no place left to hide, no method of escape. The mole was running around, killing people one by one, and Whyte was descending into the depths of the mountain to slaughter all the rest. They might really die here. This thought clutched Lydia's chest and dragged her down. Jando's breathing beside her grew short and on the edge of hearing. She imagined his wide, quivering eyes and pale expression that matched her own.

We might die, the persistent thought continued to swim to the surface. We might actually die. All of the BEP Division snuffed out today, here, in an instant. All of this taken away. She swore she heard the engines of Whyte's death patrols rolling into the Cave at this instant and the last screams of people already.

Aidan doubled over and she couldn't read his face, although she was sure he had come to the same conclusion. They all had. The fear and utter shock in everyone's eyes in the room all spoke to the same questions. What did they do? How would they survive?

Sylvia was the first to react. She jumped to her feet, barked for the guards to cover the front entrance, and directed Lydia, Aidan, and Jando to the escape vehicles. "Get over there now!" Jando helped his friends up and grabbed their arms, pulling them to the door.

As fear coiled around her heart and mind, Lydia finally came to her senses and dug her feet into the floor. "No," she said. She knew what she had to do. "We're agents, too."

"In training," Sylvia said.

"We've fought them before," she said.

"Different circumstances."

Jando leaned in. "She's right. This is much worse. Look, they can handle it. Let's go." He tugged their arms. "Come on."

"You're letting people volunteer. We volunteer, too," she said, yanking forward and nodding to Aidan. He returned the nod, albeit jittery. She jammed her own hands into her pockets. It was all she could do to keep them from shaking. They had to do this. If they were going to die, they may as well do it head-on and protect the others. "People are counting on all of us to do our job and help. We can't run when we're needed the most." Although her feet sure wanted to. "'We have to stay strong and work together to face whatever else Whyte throws at us,' remember?" Sylvia frowned at her words being thrown back at her. "We're in."

The walkie-talkie crackled and Sylvia pulled her glove off with her teeth. She laid her fingertips against the speaker. "Say again. Didn't catch that."

"The first escape vehicles are leaving now," Arthur said. "Gather who you can onto them. Everyone else, cover their retreat until the next set is loaded."

Sylvia looked up in time to see Jando leaving the room and shrugging an apology to her. Lydia and Aidan were ahead of him. Sylvia yelled after the trio, but they hoofed it down the halls, running for the Center's exit.

Jando caught up and stayed alongside Lydia, while Aidan lagged a little, huffing and puffing. "This is too much for us," Jando said. "We could help the escape vehicles if we need to."

She dodged the truth in his concern. "Whyte's coming down here with plenty of men. Arthur needs all the people they can get to help," she said. "Otherwise, it'll be a massacre." He didn't seem hopeful and, truth be told, she was absolutely terrified. "We can help the escape vehicles once everyone else is evacuated." If we make it that far. "For now, we hold them off. Trust me." He grimaced, but stayed beside her, running headlong into danger with her and Aidan.

To their side, a pair of guards emerged. "Hey, that's them! Stop!" one said.

"Guess Sylvia warned them," Aidan said through wheezes.

"Split up! Meet at the entrance!" Lydia took off down one hall, Aidan flew over the guards, and Jando ran into a laboratory. Lydia continued down the hall, losing the guards near the front of the Center. Outside, she already heard sporadic gunfire. It had started.

She crashed into a warm body and fell on top of it. She raised a fist, prepared for the mole or anyone else. "No, please!" Gary cowered underneath her and curled into a fetal position.

Lydia looked him over. He was unarmed and his hands trembled in front of him, protecting his face. "Hey, it's all right," she said, standing up. "It's me."

He raised his head. "Oh, thank goodness." He cleared his throat and stood up as well. "What's going on? First the alarm, then I'm told I need to come with some guards while I'm in the bathroom, and when I come out to meet them, one's dead, the other's bleeding out, and everyone's in a panic!" He scratched his beard and twitched like Brentle, searching the halls for anyone else. "I went to go find help, but all this excitement is playing havoc with me."

"I'll bet," she said. "Look, an EMT is already on the way for that guard. Come with me instead. I'll get you to the escape vehicles, okay?" He nodded and ran ahead of her. They reached the reception area, deserted save for one familiar face dashing in from another hall: Morella.

Lydia scrambled to a halt and searched for a quick hiding spot. But Morella saw them before she could locate one. He turned, his pistol already drawn, and Lydia moved to the receptionist's desk, chucking a telephone at him. He sidestepped out of the way and held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa! It's me!"

"I know," she said. "Where have you been? Killing more people?"

"What are you talking about?" he said. "I was napping until I heard the alarm. I checked out the dormitories to make sure everyone was evacuated, and then came here."

"Uh-huh, sure," she said, picking up a potted plant. "Someone is a traitor here. How can we trust you?"

"We're all on the same side," he said, and then turned to Gary. He eyed Morella with a cocked eyebrow and sidled close to Lydia. "Fine, if it makes you feel better." He laid his pistol on the desk and slid it across to them. They looked at it, then up at him. "Ever used one, Mr. Reece?"

"Uh, a friend let me fire his once," he said, picking the pistol up by the handle's end. He dangled it between his thumb and forefinger, spinning it around and examining it like a curious contraption.

Morella unholstered another pistol from his belt and showed the side to Gary. "Safety's on the side. On, off," he said, flipping the switch. "All you have to do is point and shoot. Got it?" Gary nodded and held the pistol, pointing it straight down. His body quivered and he took several deep breaths. "Satisfied?" Morella asked.

Lydia set the plant down and walked to him. "Fine. Let's get him to an escape vehicle. You take the lead."

"Fine," Morella said. Lydia walked to the front door, switching between watching him and the fight outside, determining when it would be safe to move as he took cover by the wall corner beside her. When the gunfire was less constant for a few moments, she opened the door for Morella, but a shot rang out. She swirled around and he fell to the ground, a small hole in the center of his chest, bleeding profusely. He choked and coughed, grasping at the ever-growing red stain in his shirt and rolled onto his chest, his limbs twitching and contracting.

Gary gritted his teeth, the pistol rattling in his hand. "He was going to shoot you," he said as Morella's gasps became weaker, raspier. "I saw him. He pointed at you. He was going to shoot you right in the back. Then he would've gotten me. Probably thought I couldn't hit him at all."

She stared at Morella as he looked up at her and jerked his head side to side. "To shoot me," Lydia said slowly, "he would've had to face me, not you. Or at least turned partway." She stared at the bullet wound when it appeared in the brief spasms, and then at Morella's back, where there was no entry wound, and then at Gary. Her face registered her deduction and Gary lowered his eyelids.

"Clever girl." He fired a shot, but she ducked behind the desk and pressed her back to the wood.

Gary. Gary?! Of all people, it was him? First Whyte invaded the Cave, and now Gary revealed himself a turncoat. This was too bizarre and surreal, like some fever dream.

He shot at her spot and she slunk lower. "Guess I should've thought of something better."

Lydia searched her surroundings for anything to throw at him. "You could've said he tried to shoot you first and you got him." Nothing. There was nothing. She slid her hand along the desk counter and another bullet barely missed her. Wood chips bounced into the air and sprinkled her hair.

"That's pretty good," he said. "I wasn't thinking straight, though. Told you all this excitement was messing with me. But I'll remember that for next time."

She had to keep him talking, keep him distracted. "There won't be a next time." She saw only one option. She spun on her heels and pushed her palms against the bottom of the counter.

"You're right. Because everyone in here is dead. Whoa!"

Lydia lifted the desk off the hinges on the wall and threw it upward. It smacked Gary in the face and he staggered, clutching his nose. "Agh! You b—oof!" She shoved the desk hard, pinning him to the wall. She pulled the desk away and he dropped to his knees. Lydia pushed the desk into his head and he collapsed face-first, his gun clattering a few feet away.

She fell onto her backside and panted, looking between an unconscious Gary and a dead Morella. What just happened? Gary. Morella. What just happened?!

Gary groaned and his fingers curled, searching for the gun, and brushing the grip. Lydia leapt quickly, fist outstretched, and smashed the gun and his fingertips. "Agh! You broke them!" he said, yanking his hand back as she swept the pistol away. She grabbed a pair of handcuffs hooked to Morella's belt and slapped one end on Gary's hand. She dragged him behind the desk and looped the chain around a drawer handle before attaching the other end to his free hand. "You broke my fingers!"

"I'll do a lot worse than that," she said, leaving to check on Morella. She rolled him over and searched for a pulse. None. His eyes were dead to the world and she closed his lids. "I'm sorry," she said, and offered a silent prayer for him. Please accept him to one day join You in Paradise. Please reward his sacrifices and don't let them be in vain.

"Hey," Gary said. "Where are you?"

Lydia hopped over the desk and crouched beside him. "How? Why?" She decked his face and he held his nose.

He cursed her and sniffed. "You're supposed to wait until I answer. Ugh, I think you broke it, too," he said, his voice thick and nasally.

She wanted to do so much more than that. All those people put in danger or killed because of this trash. This person whom she had trusted and actually confided in. Flashbacks of sessions assaulted her, and she wondered if she had divulged any important information to him. She couldn't remember, but to think she may have unknowingly helped him somehow made her sick. What if other people did, too?

The smug grin he wore infuriated her, and she wanted to pound it off his face and into the ground until he couldn't even attempt a smile. But there was a more pressing matter at hand. She grabbed him by his collar and asked, "Does Whyte know about the emergency routes?"

He kicked at her and she kneeled on his shin. He continued struggling and she tugged his beard, yanking out a handful of hair. He hissed and shook in his bonds. "Does he?" She leaned into his shin harder. "You know I can snap it like a twig. Tell me."

He gave up and sighed, staring at her for a moment. Then he laughed. A wild, uncontrollable laugh at some joke she wasn't privy to. "You have no idea how screwed you all are."

She pressed into his leg to its breaking point. He seethed and winced, but chuckles escaped his throat all the same. "Tell me."

"I didn't tell him," he said. "I didn't know about the routes. But if by some miracle he hasn't found them, he soon will. No one is safe from a man who can see the future. Not you, not Arthur, or any of the blind, miserable fools here!"

She whacked his head into the desk, knocking him out, and then ran outside. Off to the side, the first escape vehicles were already gone and the hidden wall closed up. People ran and clambered for the next set of vehicles as fast as possible. At the entrance, APCs and Humvees rolled farther into the Cave. Guards and volunteers lined up against hastily placed concrete barriers and the parked cars in the lot. As soon as the first APC neared them, a series of mine explosions burst upward from underneath, rattling the APC and stopping it in its tracks. Smoke and debris covered the battlefield.

The guards and volunteers cheered until one of the Humvees opened fire on them through the smoke, with a tank approaching its rear! The Humvee's machine gun cut down a few, and those close to the Cave entrance retreated to distant cover. An APC and the tank fired on the second wave of escape vehicles, blowing one up and catching a few people in the blast. Those that held passengers opened the hidden wall and fled, leaving behind some final escape vehicles, some cars and vans in the lot, and frightened people and guards dashing back to the Center. Several threw smoke grenades, blinding the advancing vehicles.

Several more explosions burst upward at the entrance, blinding both sides in smoke clouds. In the midst of the guards, Lydia spotted Jando and Aidan. She dashed forward, pumping her legs hard, and aided them with the retreat.

* * *

"We can't see anything!" someone in of the vehicles ahead reported.

"Keep pushing on," Whyte told them. "All cars, use the vehicles as cover. As soon as we enter, get out and take them down."

Gunfire erupted ahead of the car. Mark both wanted to curl into a corner and sit in the front to watch the battle. The latter half won out, and he peered past the seats. Ahead, the damaged APC opened and mercenaries poured from it, their rifles lighting up as they entered the thick cloud of smoke. The only thing Mark saw beyond the smoke were quick flashes of shots going off.

Their car pulled up behind a Humvee and Whyte turned to Heather and Mark. "What are you two waiting for? Get out there."

Mark opened his door and checked the rocky floor carefully. Mines or whatever the Cave defenses used would be sure to kill him, and he took careful, lively strides into the heat of battle. Heather followed behind him. "If you can, try to escape during all this."

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

"Won't they blame you then?" he asked.

"Just do it." She ran forward and attacked one of the Cave guards. She chopped at his throat and kneed his stomach. He fell and Lionel descended from the haze all around. He jumped into the poor man's mouth and ended his life with a short spasm.

The Humvee turrets fired nonstop beside Mark and, through the noise, several dying screams pierced his nerves. He ran along with Heather, ignoring the carnage and dead bodies building along their path. They emerged from the smoke and saw that the BEP forces were retreating. "Fall back!" they ordered. "Fall back!" Among the faces, Mark found Lydia, stained with dust and bits of rock. A friend of hers flew into a mercenary, pushing him forward into Lydia's uppercut. The mercenary sailed through the air and fell with a whump! next to Mark, and then groaned and lay stiff, his face twisted in pain.

As the BEP forces, Lydia, and her friends filed into a large, three-story building comprised mostly of windows, one of the mercenaries kneeled and took aim with a rocket launcher. He fired at the second floor, blowing out a couple of rooms with the blast. Glass exploded and rained down like twinkling stars all around, and bits of furniture crashed against the rocky ground.

Whyte stalked behind them and knocked the rocket launcher out of the mercenary's hands. "You idiot! You'll bring the whole thing down! I want Arthur and Lydia alive!" He kicked the mercenary's backside. "I'm sure they've called for help by now, so we don't have all day. All of you! In there and find them!"

"What about those that escaped?" Lionel asked.

"Leave them for the helicopters," he said. "Focus on those that are left."

"And if Arthur isn't still here?"

"Oh, he'll be here." Whyte gave a knowing nod. "He won't leave anyone behind. He would be the last one to leave. Find him."

"On it," Emeryl said. He split his group, ordering a couple of small squads to check an off-white building to the side. In the meantime, some of the BEP Division guards had perched in the upper floors of the glass building. They took potshots at the mercenaries below, killing a couple without losing any of their number. "They have the high ground! We have to get inside!" Emeryl hustled their BEPs and mercenaries inside the building, with a few mercenaries laying down suppressing fire as they went.

Inside the reception area, they found a struggling man handcuffed to a desk. He yanked on the drawer, grunting and thrashing his head. When he saw them, he waved for Whyte. "Over here! Here!"

"There you are, Gary," Whyte said. One of the mercenaries picked the handcuff's lock.

"They evacuated most of the non-combat BEPs and personnel," Gary said. The handcuffs popped open and he rubbed his wrists. His fingers were crooked and bent at odd angles on one hand. "There's not enough to stand against you though."

"Guess again!" Lydia shouted from down a dark hallway at an intersection. The mercenaries raised their guns, but Whyte stood in front of them.

"No, don't kill her," he said. "Aim for her legs." They shot at her, and she dove for cover in one of the other halls.

Suddenly, a loud wham! echoed around them as a metal sheet slammed down in front of the door they'd come in. Except for blood-red emergency lights on the wall, they were plunged into darkness.

"Perfect," Emeryl said, unclipping his walkie-talkie. "Squad D, come in. What just happened?"

"The whole building went into lockdown," the other side said. "It's covered in some metal sheets, except for the snipers' windows."

Whyte laughed. "Oh, Arthur." He rapped on the metal sheet. "I didn't even need my foresight to see this coming." He mused to himself, pushing on the metal. "You knew I wouldn't bring the building down with you and Lydia in it, so you mean to trap me. No creativity whatsoever."

"Want us to punch a hole in it?" Squad D asked.

"No," Emeryl said, catching Whyte's headshake. "Cut out the front entrance. Move up the vehicles and use them for cover while you do. Radio us once you're in."

"On it!"

"What now?" Emeryl asked Whyte. "We can't stay here." He looked ahead, his expression grim. "And that's a kill zone if I ever saw one."

Indeed, even Mark realized that the glass-lined hallway with its blackened rooms could hold the entire BEP Division's remaining forces. They would be cut down in a matter of seconds. Going back out wasn't an option. They were surrounded.

Whyte snatched a rifle from a mercenary and a spare clip. "Must I do everything?" He walked brazenly into the hall, without a care in the world. He spun on his heel and fired left, shattering some glass. Somebody gagged and choked, and a gun clattered to the floor. He about-faced, killed an office worker with a gun, two more behind him, and a guard in the corner of a room. When he reached the end of the hall, he beckoned everyone else forward.

Mark was impressed until he remembered Whyte's power. With his foresight, this battle was all but won.

Lydia had gone and the hall split off into three directions. "I'll go this way," Whyte said, pointing down the right hall where Lydia had gone. He took a few of the mercenaries, Valerie, and Sheila with him. Emeryl and Lionel went straight with most of the remaining mercenaries, while Mark, Oliver, Heather, Roy, and the rest went left.

Mark's group happened upon two girls and two boys standing in their way. One of the girls wore a pair of ice blocks on her hands, and the other had a legion of various dog breeds standing at perfect attention around her. The older, plump boy had a cast-metal nose filled with water held over his face, sniffing from it and exhaling. The younger boy creeped Mark out, with his monstrous bulging eyes and a tongue that kept striking the air like a frog searching for its meal. Strangely, Roy stared at the bug-eyed boy, his face unreadable and his eyes out of focus.

"Here to stop us, little girls and boys?" Oliver asked, cracking his eyes and spurting flames.

The one with ice blocks raised her fists, sipping from straws wrapped around her ears and connected to water bottles on her hips. "We're gonna freeze you in your tracks!"

Oliver's face lighted up, and he jumped a few steps ahead like a child himself. "You play with fire, you're gonna get burned!" He jerked his head to Heather and Mark. "Come on. We got this. Three-on-three and a half." Mark didn't know if Oliver had seen the dogs, but there were at least a couple of dozen, all vicious and growling at them.

The girl in the dogs' midst growled and barked at the hounds, her long floppy beagle ears flapping back and forth. "What did she just say?" Oliver asked.

The ice girl grinned. "Attack." Five guards and personnel stepped out of rooms to the sides and fired on the mercenaries. The bug-eyed boy slapped his tongue to the ceiling, swung forward, and kicked Oliver square in the jaw. The older boy removed the metal cast, sneezed, and shot blue lasers into Mark's group and the wall, slicing through guns and blowing apart fragments of stone. The girls ran forward, yelling at the tops of their lungs, and the dogs barked, their sharp, vicious fangs ready to tear through the line.

The mercenaries fired, killing several dogs, but more jumped on them, biting and snapping at their armor. Oliver blasted flames at the swinging boy, but he danced around the fire, merrily kicking whomever he liked until a few mercenaries focused on him. He swung away, but the bullets chased him. Roy shoved the mercenaries and Oliver from behind, throwing off their focus.

Suddenly, a frazzled scientist stepped out of a room with a large piece of vinyl, stretching open the hole at its center. He snatched the swinging boy into the vinyl, catching him in his chest, and air hissed as the vinyl inflated around his body. The mercenaries had the boy dead to rights and shot him. "Wait, don't!" Roy yelled. The boy held up his hands and a horde of bullets struck the vinyl.

But the vinyl held. The bullets pushed inward, until they were an inch from the boy's nose and palms, but they never pierced the protective layer of vinyl all around him. "It works!" the scientist said. The bullets popped out and fell, and the scientist cheered and raised his lab coat, spinning it around in victory.

The bug-eyed boy laughed and snaked his tongue through the hole. "Thank you!" He waved to the scientist. The scientist waved back and hid while the boy returned to the fight, bowling over a few mercenaries with his new inflatable body.

Mark blocked one dog from biting Heather, and it sank its teeth into his forearm. He grabbed the dog's snout and ripped it off in time to be decked by an ice block. The ice girl turned to Oliver and punched him, but he burned the ice off her hands. She threw the melted blocks at him, ducked under the rest of his flames, and ran back to the guards and personnel. They protected her, the other three BEPs, and the scientist as they retreated. Five mercenaries were left standing, the rest slain or too injured to move, with bullet wounds and deep dog-bite gashes.

One last dog jumped for Oliver's neck, and he set it alight in the air and jumped aside. Mark couldn't bear to watch the dog howl, yelp, and roll around on the ground, a small flaming mass of torture. "Come on," Oliver said. "Let's get them."

"They want us to go after them," Heather said.

"I know," he said. "Should be fun!" He chased the retreating group and Heather and Mark cursed his foolhardy glee as they followed. Roy grimaced, trailing behind them with the surviving mercenaries.
Chapter 24- Motivation

"Lydia!" Sylvia yelled above the throng of frightened people in the hallway. "Go check for anyone else!" Lydia nodded and sprinted through the first floor, leaving Sylvia and a few guards to sneak everyone out of the Center's back exit, the only exit still open, and to the last group of escape vehicles. Every now and then, gunfire echoed down a passage and she hurried faster. All the floors had been cleared of most of the employees and BEPs, but when she ran past training rooms and the pool, she skidded to a halt. Two pairs of eyes, hardly noticeable, stared out at her from inside the pool. In front of the glass lay a guard's deathly cold body.

Lydia burst into the pool room and the twins swam up to her. "Why are you two still here?" she asked.

"Cooper came to visit and then all this started, so we've been trapped here. I can't find anyone to help me with him," Nina said, pointing to her brother. "He can't walk on his own. Not with his cast. We flagged down the guard, but a group passed through and killed him. We've been hiding in the pool ever since."

"Here." Lydia offered a hand, helped Nina out, and handed her her helmet. "I'll carry him, okay? We need to get you two to the cars."

"Right," Nina said, grabbing Cooper's hand. She pulled and heaved. "When did you get so heavy?"

"It's the cast," he said. "It absorbed some water."

After he swung his cast onto the ground and continued rising slowly, Lydia gathered their clothes, shoes, and towels. When she finished, a great bulky figure appeared beyond the windows, carrying a gun-shaped object. It raised its hand, pointing the object at the twins. Lydia dropped her bundle and called, "Nina!"

The girl turned her head. She, too, spotted the gun and pushed Cooper back into the pool as the first series of rounds shattered the glass. Lydia ran, catching Nina as she dropped to the ground. The shots kept coming, and Lydia rolled with Nina into the pool.

The shooter stood on the lip of the pool and bullets whizzed through the water, leaving a thin trail of bubbles in their wake. Lydia passed Nina to Cooper, and he clutched her close to his body. Then Lydia kicked off the pool's floor, rose to the surface, and latched onto the ledge. The shooter stumbled and Lydia lifted her body up, with her feet pointed straight out, and slammed her heels into the shooter's shins. It felt like hitting a sharp wall, and she fell onto her back.

"Agh!" the shooter dropped the gun in the pool, and Lydia got a good glimpse of her. It was the rock BEP from the mill. Already armored with rock and stone from the Cave, the BEP shifted rock over her unprotected shooting hand. More rock tumbled down her legs like ocean waves and reinforced her shins. "You!" she said from somewhere within the craggy armor. Punching her fists together, she swept her arm into Lydia, knocking her aside and across the floor. "I've been looking for you! I'll kill you, then Heather!" She dug a hunk of earth from her chest and threw it after Lydia.

Lydia rolled out of the way and the chunk exploded into fragments against the wall. A stray stone bruised her, but Lydia hopped onto her feet. She rushed the BEP and rammed her shoulder into the chest. The rock BEP gave several feet of ground but remained unscathed. Lydia punched the chest, cracking the rock, and splitting her own knuckles in the process. The BEP responded with a blow to her side that threw her to the room's front steps.

Lydia hissed, pain shooting up her hip to her shoulder. There had to be a way to beat this one. At the mill, Lydia had managed to knock her out. Therefore, the BEP inside the rock was affected by her attacks to some extent. She would have a better chance if she could get the thick armor off.

The BEP stomped over to her and stopped. Splashes of water sprayed the ground and Cooper catcalled to her. "Hey! Over here! Bet you're too afraid to come in and take me on!" He scooped up water in his fins, throwing small waves onto the BEP.

That's it. With the BEP momentarily distracted, Lydia leaned on the stair handrail, pulling herself to her feet. Then she gritted her teeth against the pain and rushed the BEP again, pushing her to the water with all her might. The BEP stopped at the edge, and Lydia pushed hard against the rock armor. The BEP reached for her and Lydia dropped to the ground, kicking one foot and tripping her. Her opponent collapsed, bouncing her chin and torso onto the ground with a large thud! The armored legs drifted into the water as the person inside lay dazed. Lydia stomped on the face shell, with her side feeling like it was ripping apart. She continued, sinking the whole body farther into the pool. The BEP scrambled with her hands, trying to gain ground on the floor.

The BEP was already shedding her rock armor below the water's surface so she wouldn't sink and the pieces disintegrated in the waves. Her massive hands clawed the floor, digging the stubby fingers into the stone. Lydia jumped onto the digits, breaking the rock off one by one. The BEP fell fully into the water and plummeted into the deep depths. Lydia leapt into the pool, stretching out her arms and punching her. The BEP kept the stone mask surrounding her head for a while and hit back. But all too soon, they were on the bottom and the BEP clutched at her throat. The mask broke apart and bubbles streamed out of her mouth and nostrils.

Cooper swam from behind and held the woman's arms while Lydia socked her chin. One more punch and she was unconscious. Cooper hefted Nina onto his shoulder and Lydia did the same with the woman. They carried their loads to the surface, and after she threw hers onto the ground, Lydia pulled Nina out of the pool with Cooper. Then she fell beside the ledge, lifted her own shirt, and checked her side. A large, nasty purple and red bruise was forming along her ribs where the rock BEP hit her.

Nina wheezed, her chest rising and deflating with labored air. Cooper propped her on his lap and covered a hole between her stomach and chest. The water had washed the blood away, but it was already pulsing out in copious amounts, and her skin was fading to a ghostly hue fast. Lydia frantically crawled over to help, yet she saw that Nina's life was ebbing fast. Even if Barrett was still here, Lydia doubted Nina would make it to the surgery table. Her breathing was slowing and became lighter. Her terrified eyes understood the situation and looked to Lydia for assurance that Cooper was all right. She nodded and patted her knee.

"Hang on," Cooper said, scooping her up closer to his face. He squeezed out tears and held her to his chest. "Hang on. We'll get you help. It's not that bad. It isn't."

"Cooper," she said, gurgling in her throat. "Stay safe. I love you." She raised her hand, spreading her fingers and guiding them toward his face. He leaned his cheek into them and she closed her eyes. "Tell Mom and Dad, I lo...love," and her hand slid down his face and to the ground.

Cooper sat in shock, rocking back and forth and side to side with her. He shook her limp body as if checking for any remaining sparks of life left within. Tears streamed down his cheeks, intermingling with the water, and he didn't make a sound save for a sniff now and again and mouthing Nina's name. The pair stared at Nina's body, watching for any movement, until Lydia reached out and put her hand over Nina's mouth. No air. She put an ear to her chest. No heartbeat.

She sat back on her heels and covered her mouth, failing to hold back her own tears. "I'm so sorry," she said to Cooper. "I should've been faster. I should've been watching." Cooper didn't respond. In fact, he didn't even seem to acknowledge the world around him, save for Nina's face. "Cooper?" Nothing. Lydia figured she would give him a moment of peace and touched his shoulder to let him know she was there for him.

That activated the boy and he came to life, holding Nina's head to his and rocking harder until he almost toppled over. He hiccupped and choked on his sobs, alternating between whispered and louder cries of "No, no, no..." He stroked her hair, clutching clumps of it, and examined her face frequently, searching for anything to disprove this nightmare.

Lydia stepped away and gave him his space. They couldn't stay here long. Soon more of Whyte's forces would be upon them. She ripped up one of the stair handrails from the pool, dragged the BEP woman to the wall, and sat her up straight. Lydia bent the rail into a semicircle and jammed its ends into the wall until it fit snug around the woman's chest and arms. That'll hold her for a bit.

After she'd finished, Lydia returned to Cooper and looped an arm underneath his armpit. "Hey, we can't stay here," she said. He shrugged and pushed at her, but she held firm. "Listen, more are on their way. Nina wouldn't want you to die here, all right?" He looked up at her, his eyes red and puffy. "I can't carry both of you if you fight with me. We'll mourn her later. I promise."

He nodded. "Okay," he said, his throat hoarse and broken. The drastic change startled Lydia and her heart tore for him. She embraced him, rubbing his back. "Thank you. For, for..." A fresh set of tears started for both of them.

"I know. It's all right," she said, wiping her eyes. Then she lifted Nina onto her shoulder and stooped to pick up Cooper. But he raised one arm.

"Wait." He waddled to the BEP woman and straightened to perfect eye level with her. He raised a flipper and slapped her across the face as hard as he could. She didn't react and slumped to the side. He hit her again, then readied a third, yet dropped his arm, sniffed, and flopped to Lydia. She threw him over her shoulder and hustled outside and to the back entrance.

* * *

"Whoa!" Oliver skidded on another patch of ice and held on to the wall for support. Up ahead, the ice girl slapped her behind and laughed at their pursuers. She had left a trail of ice patches here and there along the floor. Everyone kept hopping and skipping around and over the patches. Except Oliver. He was so eager to catch his prey that he ignored all warnings not to run around a corner or to watch where he was going.

"I'm burning all this!" he said, opening his eyes.

Heather smacked the side of his head and he closed them. "If you set the hall on fire, we won't be able to chase them. And you might bring the place down." She handed him over to the mercenaries. "Follow me." Mark stayed beside her, dodging another ice patch.

Ahead, the path forked into two different halls. "Olly olly oxen free!" Oliver swept his firey eyes down each path. "Which way did they go?" he asked.

Heather whacked him again and he shut his eyes tight. "I don't know," she said. "We may as well go back."

"No way. They may know where Lydia and Arthur are. I say we split up."

Heather groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Mark and I will go to the right with a couple guys. You go left."

"Oh, no," Oliver said. "I'll take Mark with me. Sorry, but it's my head if you two pull something. You understand, right?" He grinned, leering at Mark.

"I'll go with you instead," Heather said. "Someone has to watch you, you klutz. Some of the others can go with Mark." She glanced sidelong at Mark and, with a look, urged him to escape. He shot back with an imperceptible shake of his head. Not without her. Hers flashed with anger, assuring him that she would be fine. Oliver seemed unsure and hummed over her suggestion. "If you want to catch them, we need to leave."

"Fine. Watch him closely," he told three of the mercenaries. He turned and walked into the wall. Heather grumbled and jerked his arm along, and two mercenaries and Roy followed behind them.

Meanwhile, Mark and the other three mercenaries moved down the right, carefully, room by room. Every hall was dark, and the mercenaries feared some guard lurked within, brandishing a rifle, ready to pop out and put a bullet between their eyes. They shoved Mark to the front and fell in line behind him. Not that he was overly confident either. The guards could be loaded with grenades, which would take care of him. But he stepped lively through the halls, figuring if he was quick, he might avoid any crossfire.

After several empty halls and abandoned rooms, the mercenaries grew bold and walked ahead, peeking into some of the rooms. "Where are they?" one asked.

Another shushed them all and cocked his ear. They all did the same, and Mark heard voices nearby. They ran, turning a few corners to follow the sound, and came upon a rear exit. Outside, a pair of armed guards helped personnel and stray BEPs into a large van.

One of the mercenaries raised his gun. "Too easy."

Mark stepped in front of him, holding his palm against the barrel. "They're not who we're looking for." The mercenaries stared at him, and he wondered himself what he was doing. He pried his palm off the barrel slowly, then figured he had already committed himself, and pushed the gun down. He was sick of this and had to draw a line.

"Out of the way," the mercenary said, elbowing him aside. He trained his sights on the vehicle again, but Mark punched him below the belt. The mercenary doubled over and Mark snatched the rifle from him.

"They're no threat to us," he said. "They're just trying to escape."

"Looks like you signed your death warrant," the mercenary said. "Whyte wants them all. When he hears about thi¬s—"

"Shut up with Whyte," Mark said, aiming the gun at the mercenary's chest. "I'm tired of hearing about Whyte. He isn't here. I am. You can't call on him like he's your dad." He gripped the gun tighter, holding it awkwardly at his shoulder. It was enough to scare them, and the other two mercenaries aimed their guns. "Go ahead. Let's see who gets killed first."

Inside, his frightened bones rattled fiercely, asking what he was possibly thinking, manifesting in a slight tremor in his arms. The unarmed mercenary caught it and walked forward. "Look, give me the gun."

"Back!" Mark said, pushing the barrel out and shaking the gun threateningly, and then retreating a few paces. "I've had it and I won't take anymore."

The mercenary reached out, hand extended like a peace offering. "Hey, we're all on the same side here. We're cool, right? Look," he said, raising his empty hands. "Cool? Give me the gun and we don't have to tell Whyte about this." At the mention of Whyte's name, Mark saw a destroyed car outside the exit, Heather dead, and the insufferable Whyte laughing. Mark growled, stopping the mercenary. The man's face showed he was dead as soon as Mark pulled the trigger. His body flailed in a hail of bullets and fell over.

The other mercenaries fired at Mark, the bullets pinging off his skin. He turned the rifle on them, and the recoil kicked his arms upward. But seconds later, they fell over, too. Mark kept the rifle raised and surveyed the three. Completely dead, no doubt about it. He dropped the rifle, but its strap clung to his shoulder, and he dragged the barrel across the ground.

One of the mercenaries' walkie-talkies clicked. "Hey, we're upstairs. Can't find the brats," Oliver said. "Someone said they heard shooting near you guys. Did you find them?"

Mark picked up the walkie-talkie. "Hey."

"Hey, what's the story?"

He licked his lips and kneeled down. What should he say? His mind was blank, absolutely barren of excuses. "Nothing," he said. "Just..." Slaughtered everyone? Got fed up with this? Hate all of you? ",,,found my motivation." A wry smile curled up his cheeks, and he didn't even hear the pounding footsteps until someone kicked him across the face.

"Don't got time for you," the person said.

Mark fell and turned to the fleeing feet. Lydia, with a body slung over his shoulder. "Hurry up!" she yelled to a boy behind her. He flopped on the floor like a seal on his flippered limbs, scooting around the dead bodies. She scooped him into her empty arm and they left, warning the guards that Mark was in there.

For the first time in a long time, Mark chuckled.

* * *

The only van left with room was crammed with people, and Lydia had to lay Nina's body across the floorboards. Cooper sat beside her, drawing his sister's head into his lap. One of the guards shut the door and slapped the van's side. It and the other vehicles took off for the emergency route, and Lydia led the two guards to where she had seen Mark. He was gone by the time they got there. However, the three did run into Sylvia, Jando, Aidan, Janice, Wren, Ryan, Donny, and a host of guards and armed volunteers. Arthur showed up right behind with the remaining guards.

"Everyone evacuated?" he asked Sylvia.

"All those alive," she said. "But many..." She didn't need to speak. Already the stench of death overwhelmed not only the Center, but the Cave as a whole. It was cold and gloomy, like a mausoleum, and Lydia wanted to leave it far behind.

Lydia noted the bullet-torn bodies in the hall. Any shooting would draw unwelcome attention soon. "We need to move," Arthur said, indicating the bodies and reflecting her thoughts. "The last cars are in the parking lot. The snipers up top are holding their own for now. They won't last forever. Get to the cars."

They left via the rear entrance and rounded the building, keeping sharp eyes out for any mercenaries. Arthur radioed the snipers as they neared the front. "How are things looking? Any sign of them?"

"Whyte's people outside the Center hunkered down in the dormitories. It's all clear," came the reply. The voice sounded a little slow, and the sniper spoke in a drawl. Arthur exchanged a funny look with Sylvia, and Lydia sensed something was wrong.

Arthur stopped everyone at the corner of the Center and peered out but could see no one. Only dead bodies of mercenaries and BEP forces alike in front of the Center. The vehicles were waiting there, ready to be taken. Sylvia's rigid posture and his tense muscles warned Arthur that something waited in the wings. The suspicion spread throughout the group and the armed personnel and guards watched all sides, prepared for an attack.

Arthur radioed the snipers again. "Things still clear?"

"Yeah." Lydia definitely heard something odd that time. Arthur looked back at the way they'd come, seemed to consider doubling back, and then ordered his group to stay hidden. He crouched and scurried to one of the trucks.

"That's far enough." Lydia peeked out from the corner. Standing on the third floor, with the snipers kneeling in front of him and restrained by mercenaries, was Whyte, proud and tall in his stark-white suit and slicking his gray-lined hair back into perfect photo-op position. He stroked his beard and his face lit up with delight. "Arthur, just the man I wanted to see. Would you mind joining us up here? And do bring your friends, too. I wouldn't want them to miss this."

Guns clicked above Lydia and she cursed the sudden turn. Mercenaries above leaned over the roof edge, with the group clear in their sights. A dozen more exited the Center from a hole cut into the metal, and others rose from the corpses scattered in front of the Center. They escorted the group to the Center's entrance, while other mercenaries tramped down the hill from the dormitories, surrounding them completely.
Chapter 25- Mano a Mano

Whyte cast down a rope for Arthur while everyone else was gathered at the front doors of the Center. The mercenaries crowded Lydia and the others into a tight bunch and disarmed them. They kept their hostages in a small circle and shoved their rifles into their faces. If Lydia punched the mercenary in front of her, two others would shoot her down. They blocked anyone's escape into the Center, forming a solid line in front of the cut opening.

At the Cave's entrance, the tank, the functioning APC, and the Humvees sat, aiming in their general direction. They wouldn't shoot. Not with Whyte and his forces so close. But if the hostages escaped, the turrets would tear them apart if they didn't move fast.

Lydia ran through all the abilities at their disposal. Her strength was out. Flying would make Aidan a clay pigeon for target practice. Ice? Not enough to handle all of them. Janice might be able to call some dogs, but it was a long shot. Donny could zap one, but it wouldn't be enough. Ryan could steal a gun with his tongue, but what would one against thirty plus do?

Arthur climbed the rope to the third floor. "Glad to see you're still in good shape," Whyte said, handing him over to Valerie and Roy. "How have things been since I left?"

Invisibility. Lydia sought out Jando and found him in the crowd. She pushed her way to him and dragged him farther into the circle. Sylvia looked at them and started to move forward to the pair. One mercenary saw her and ordered her to stay put.

Lydia brought Jando to the middle of the hostages. Then she lowered her head, pretending to adjust her shirt. "I have an idea."

Jando scratched his nose, covering his mouth. "Do tell."

"Can you make everyone here invisible?"

He paused in thought. "Yeah, I can," he said slowly. "But they would all have to be touching each other for it to spread."

"Not a problem." With how packed in they were, everyone more or less touching one another already. "Can you do it quickly?"

"I prefer to start off slow." She frowned at his joke and he held up his hands. "Sorry. Yes, I can."

"You're sure?"

"Hey, it's me," he said with a half grin, rubbing his hands together and reaching out for the two nearest elbows. Although this was asking him for a lot of energy and she knew it, she trusted his answer. "Let me know when."

"You'll know." She leaned into one guard's ear and whispered, "Touch the people near you and be ready to fight. Pass it on." He glanced at Jando and her and leaned into the next person's ear.

"Oh come, Arthur. Don't give me the silent treatment. I came a long way to see you. The least you could do is say hello to your old pal, Simon." Whyte waited and when Arthur said nothing, he clucked his tongue. "Don't be a sore loser. You and I always knew I would come out on top." He was enjoying this far too much. Arthur didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. "As much as I would like to continue this riveting conversation, we are on a schedule."

Whyte walked to the edge of the room and called to his people below. "Send up Lydia Penner."

A few mercenaries shoved through the group and grabbed Lydia by the arms. Her first instinct was to struggle, but the gun clicks ended that. They walked her to the rope, yet Whyte reeled it up before she could grab it. "I hear you're quite the climber." He looked to Emeryl. "So let's see it," he said, stepping back.

Lydia latched onto the thick shutters covering the building and threw herself up to the next level. A couple of jumps later and she landed on the third floor. Instantly, Emeryl had his gun in her face, and it was only then that Lydia noticed the pistol had been fused to the skin of his damaged hand. She shivered to imagine the pain that must've caused. More mercenaries and Whyte's BEPs trained their guns on her. Except Mark, who was curiously absent. Nearby, the snipers were listless and zoned out, with a glazed, gassed look in their eyes that seemed to be fading, while a mercenary had his rifle to the backs of their heads.

"Whew, you're like an animal scaling a tree," Whyte said. He lifted her arm and she pulled away from him. "Ah, ah, ah." A mercenary pressed a pistol to Arthur's head. Reluctantly, Lydia handed her arms to Whyte, and he cradled the braces. "Exquisite craftsmanship. Brentle's work, no doubt."

He ripped one brace off, pushed her to the ground, and then slipped off one on her legs. She kicked at him, but he dodged her feet and seized her throat. "You and Arthur really need to learn some manners. You should be kinder to guests. Especially when they can do this." He pointed to the mercenary guarding the snipers, who shot one of the snipers point blank. The mercenary rolled the lifeless body out the window and a few people below screamed.

Lydia snatched Whyte's arm firmly. "What did I just say?" he said.

"Lydia," Arthur said, shaking his head, "don't."

"Ah, he finally speaks." Whyte pointed at the remaining sniper. "I'd listen to Arthur if I were you." She dropped her hands and he released her, and then took off the remaining braces. She stood on her feet, her back to the wall.

"I can see how you gave Rooke a hard time in Golden Springs," Whyte said. "A shame we didn't get to you first before Arthur did."

"Yeah, a shame," she said.

"No, I mean it." Whyte held a hand to his heart. "I make a point to seek out BEPs like you. Special ones who can help the rest of the world, and I give them the means to do so. I employ BEPs who deserve better lives, not stuck here in an incompetent group."

"You wanted to join them."

"True, but I was young and naïve."

"And crazy," she said. He flared his nostrils and sighed. "Why not blame the previous BEP Division's leader? He's the one who rejected you."

"Because this is far beyond some petty tests and rejection. I've moved onto better and more noble endeavors." He picked up her braces and tossed them to Oliver. "I don't believe you'll be needing these." Oliver piled them in a corner with some broken wooden furniture and set them on fire. Lydia's spirits sank as Oliver heated them with blast after blast. Their predicament became bleaker by the minute.

Whyte forgot Lydia for the moment and returned to Arthur. "You don't know how long I've waited for this. How are we on time, Emeryl?"

"A bit ahead, actually."

"Excellent. I have someone I'd like you to meet, Arthur. Someone who saw the light and realized the truth about your pitiful group. Much like I did." Whyte threw open the door, and in walked Gary, wearing a smug grin and bandages on his broken fingers. "I promised him I would let him see you before you died."

Arthur's jaw dropped to his knees and he blinked. "Gary?" He squinted. "Gary?"

"That's right," Gary said. "Have to admit, I kind of expected you to figure it out a while ago. Shows how slow you are. You really ate up the whole Morella and Harper thing. Lucky me."

"Then they were innocent," Arthur hung his head. "They all were."

"Yeah. Too bad you can't apologize to them now." Arthur growled and walked forward, but the mercenary behind him kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. "And I don't need my power or Whyte's to guess you're going to ask..." Gary put on a sorrowful expression and his lip trembled. "'W-W-Why?' Well, I'll tell you. I'm sick of you and this whole place. Day in, day out, all this 'living with our ability' crap."

"Gary, everyone can live with their ability. Including you," Arthur said. "You know that. You do it all the time."

"'I suffer through it,' you mean. Living with our abilities is just an excuse to cover up how useless this facility really is. That you can't help us at all and never will be able to."

"And really, how fair is that?" Whyte cut in, looking at everyone. "This is the help we're supposed to rely on for ailments, for threats to our lives?" He rubbed Gary's shoulder and embraced him. "You shouldn't have to suffer, you shouldn't have to live with this power if you don't want it. No BEP should. The BEP Division would have you believe you must. However, they're no closer to figuring out how to cure BEPs or stopping rogue BEPs than they are to, well, finding me." He laughed in Arthur's face. "I had to come to your doorstep before you actually accomplished that."

"That's not true and you know it," Arthur said. "We do our best to provide cures and living situations for all BEPs."

Lydia nodded at his statement and pointed at Whyte. "And to protect BEPs from people like you." Arthur shot a small smile at her.

"People like me?" Whyte asked.

"Those out to hurt or use BEPs. That's why we're here: to stop you."

Whyte snorted. "Cute. Do any of you feel used?" he asked his people and they chuckled. "How do you like that? I'm offering you what you seek. I will give you all what you want." He walked around the room, focusing on Lydia. "Let me explain something, Ms. Penner. We step up to the plate when the BEP Division can't. Curing BEPs and giving BEPs what they want, and the BEP Division is trying to stop us from doing that. Our sole purpose is to create a better world, a safer world, one where BEPs seeking cures can be free of their hardships, and one where those who want to use their powers to make an actual difference can do so." He knelt to Arthur's level. "Misguided people like you, Arthur, those who would want to impede such a beautiful end, will be overcome, if not by me, then by those who follow in my footsteps." He rounded to his people. "But I vow that I will clear the path for them to that great world."

"Hear, hear," some of the mercenaries and Gary said.

"No, we're trying to assist BEPs to live with their ability any way we can," Arthur said, glaring at Whyte. "And keep them from dangerous people who will kill them as soon as they're of no use."

"I can't live with this. I won't live with this!" Gary's fists shook. He was on a rampage now and his red face was bursting to let it all out. "Do you realize that this is the first time all day I've actually felt my own emotions? Not been forced to be like everyone else? I'm actually upset. Me. No one else. Me."

"We taught you how to control it," Arthur said. He met Lydia's eye as she shuffled toward the other sniper, inch by inch. The few guns supposed to be watching her were paying more attention to Whyte, Gary, and Arthur, as was everyone else. The mercenary holding the sniper at gunpoint had his focus split between his prisoner and the scene, too.

"No, you taught me how you teach everyone else. To deal with it. Well, I'm going to deal with it. I'm going to get rid of it." Gary swept an arm to Whyte. "All thanks to him. I wanted to run away and hide from all this once I was released. But he had a better idea. Why should I have to be scared and hide? He'll find me a cure, unlike you, and all I had to do was come back and feed him some information. Honestly, it was a great bargain."

Lydia was next to the sniper, and she looked out the window. Below, Jando watched for her signal. She would have to wait for the opportune moment and be quick with whatever she did. The mercenary guarding the sniper had noticed her and was keeping a careful watch on her now.

Arthur tried to get a word in edgewise, but Gary cut him off. "Save your speech. I will give you some credit. You did teach me to hide all emotions well. And thanks to my power, it was easy to deflect suspicion. Too easy, really, when you actually listen and sympathize with people. Not that you would know." He circled him and jabbed a finger in his face. "All I had to do was lend an ear. In case you haven't noticed, most people grin and bear their predicament. Ask Lydia." She folded her hands behind her back, feigning innocence. Gary directed his question at her. "When you first came in, you hated your power."

"I don't now."

"You wouldn't rather be home, living a normal life?"

"Of course I would," she said. "But I'm fine here."

"No, I know better. Tell us the truth."

She sighed. "Fine, yes, it was hard at first, and I wanted to be home and live a normal life. But I'm needed here. My strength is a blessing and I'm fine bearing the difficulties of having it." She spat at Whyte. "Because I am making a difference with my ability, especially if I can stop people like all of you. That will make this world safer. Everyone here believes that."

"No, they don't," Gary said. "Trust me, I feel for the people here."

"No pun intended," Oliver quipped.

Gary frowned at him. "I really do. They're in a bad spot, and this is unfair to them to have to be told there is basically no hope. When you listen to people's problems, they tell you things they shouldn't, making digging up dirt a cinch."

Lydia jumped in. "Of course everyone is going to be upset at first. It's a major change. Happens to everyone for major changes, abilities or not. But I've seen them. They make the best of things. Sure, there's rough days, but everyone is happy with their ability. That's because Arthur and the BEP Division care. They listen to us and help, Arthur as much as anyone. If they didn't, then why would we fight you?"

"Like I said: misguided," Whyte said.

"No, it's because we believe in the BEP Division and what we're fighting for. We don't have to be paid like your scum here." A few mercenaries grumbled, and their itchy trigger fingers twitched. "Our BEPs believe in their abilities, and they believe the only one impeding anything is you."

Gary shook his head. "Arthur is a fool. He only wants us to make the best of a bad situation."

"Only because we can't remove your abilities," Arthur said.

"Can't or won't?" He studied Arthur. "Maybe you're too incompetent. Maybe you want to keep BEPs here and force them to work for you."

"Same could be said for your boss," Lydia pointed out.

"Except he can find a cure. Why wouldn't Arthur ask him for help? Too proud? Too arrogant?"

Lydia glared at Whyte. "Or Whyte is too insane and bloodthirsty." Then she returned to Gary. "Like you."

"Call us what you want. I'm a purveyor of power and appreciate your strength. I also respect your desire," Whyte said. "At the same time, you're speaking from the point of view of no chance for a cure. I can give one to you." She gave him a skeptical look. "Don't believe me? Ask Heather. She was more doubtful than you, yet she came around."

"You mean—?" she asked and Heather avoided her eyes.

"Oh, didn't you know that she was playing both sides?" Gary said. "She's in it for one person only." When she saw the regret in Heather's eyes, Lydia knew it to be true. She couldn't believe she had trusted Heather enough to cooperate with her.

The fury and disgust in her throat boiled over as Gary patted her back, reminding her of his betrayal, too. "Don't blame Heather for it. Wait, actually, no, blame her for all of it." He laughed with Oliver. "Oh, don't be upset. You wouldn't have figured it out. After all, you fell for so much. The sleight of hand with the pill and slipping Heather the handcuff key? Child's play." The "accidental" pill mix-up this morning popped up in Lydia's mind, and she berated herself. "Or even," he said, raising his arms, shielding himself, "'No, please!'" He smiled between his elbows and stomped to Arthur, grabbing him by his collar. "No more letting others dictate my feelings. I'm going to be the one in charge of my emotions. Not you. Not anyone else."

Gary punched Arthur, knocking him over. Then he kicked him in the stomach. Once, twice. "How about I influence you? Huh?" He struck the top of his head. "Can you tell I'm mad?" Another kick. "Do you feel my anger? Do you?"

Whyte caught Gary's hand and pulled him back. "That's enough. I want this to be fair." Gary yanked his arm away and stood by the wall. Valerie and Roy lifted Arthur. He was mostly unfazed. He winced when Whyte grabbed him firmly by the cheeks and checked him. "You really don't have the best luck with past BEPs, eh? It's like a lethal version of 'This is Your Life.'"

"Just do whatever you want to me. Let everyone else go," Arthur said.

"I will do what I want to you," Whyte said. "As for everyone else, that will depend if they want to join me. I'm always hiring. But we've wasted enough time." He removed his coat and rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves. "I would offer peace here and let bygones be bygones, but I know you won't take it. Perhaps your successor, uh," he looked to Gary for the name.

"Sylvia."

"Sylvia, yes," he said. "Maybe she'll be more open to it. A chance to work together. There's no need to be jealous and competitive of us. I know you people do a good job of rounding up the local thug or two. The BEP Division can have that. We'll deal with the bigger, more global issues. Besides," he said, nodding to Valerie and Roy, who released Arthur, and Valerie shoved him forward, "I told you I've been waiting for this. End it all here. You and me, mano a mano, to the death. Winner take all."

Arthur drew himself up. "Only if you let everyone go."

"You're in no position to negotiate," Whyte said. "I can't tell you how often I've dreamed of this. You're going to fight me. Even if I have to start killing all your people one by one." He snapped his fingers, and the mercenary guarding the sniper leveled his rifle against the sniper's head.

Arthur sighed. "Fine." He held up his weary arms and turned his body sideways.

"Try to have some more enthusiasm," Whyte said, cracking the joints in his neck. "Fine. Tell you what. I'm a man of my word." He paused for a moment as he turned his head the other way, snapping more joints. "If you win—unlikely—my people will allow all of you to leave without so much as a scratch. So fight like you mean it. Everyone's lives hang—"

Suddenly, Arthur swung and Whyte dodged. "That's the spirit!" Whyte said. He delivered a high kick that Arthur blocked. Arthur went on the offensive, jabbing and kicking low at Whyte's shins. He backed Whyte around the room and to the open window. He moved incredibly fast, faster than Lydia had ever seen in training.

But for all his speed and sharp blows, Whyte countered each one. Lydia realized he was toying with Arthur, enjoying the fight. Through the flying arms and legs, Whyte was smiling, on the verge of laughing like a child at play. He predicted every attack and stayed on the defensive, wearing Arthur down. He was going to win and slaughter everyone in the Cave. She caught Heather's eyes, which echoed her thoughts loud and clear: What are you going to do?

When Whyte was against the open window, Arthur pressed his attack, going for the legs and chest. Anything to push Whyte out. Whyte caught Arthur's fists in his hands, twisted his arms, and stomped at his feet. Arthur jumped aside, but Whyte kept a firm hold on his hands. The entire room was caught up in the fight, with no one daring to interrupt.

They needed a distraction. Maybe Lydia could throw Whyte off with something unpredictable. Off the top of her head. She yelled to Heather, far in the corner. "Heather, I should've killed you when I had the chance!"

That distracted Whyte, Heather, and a few others. She followed up the sudden outburst by grabbing the mercenary holding the sniper at gunpoint and throwing him toward the fighters. Whyte let go of one of Arthur's hands and slapped the mercenary aside and out the window. It was enough for Arthur to land a solid punch to his jaw. Whyte held his chin, testing its hinges. "Not bad."

Below, several people screamed, followed by barking commands and gunfire. Jando had moved, and a large fight had broken out at the bottom. Stray bullets raced up the side of the building, nearly hitting Whyte and Arthur. They leapt away from one another and fell to the floor.

"Pass me a gun!" Whyte said. Valerie threw him a pistol, and he took potshots at the people on the ground.

Another round of automatic gunfire kept them prone. Lydia beckoned the sniper to follow her. They crouched and rolled over to Arthur. The fighting outside grew more intense and didn't stop. But all too soon, she knew Whyte would attack again.

Arthur pointed at the rope he had climbed up. It was still attached to a ring jammed into the floor. She passed him the rope and he flung it out the window. They each took hold of the rope. Lydia gripped it tight until her knuckles were white.

Suddenly, Heather caught onto them and latched onto the sniper's leg, tearing at his sock and shoe. He kicked her and Lydia pried Heather's fingers off, throwing her backward. By then, Whyte noticed them and aimed. "No, you don't!" The trio jumped out the window, one hand on the rope, and missed his shots. The friction burned Lydia's palm, and she stopped herself at the second floor.

Beneath their feet, the mercenaries scrambled into cover. Several lay dead or dying, and others were missing their weapons. In the parking lot, the BEP forces fired from behind cars and loaded into the vehicles left behind. The sniper slid and fell flat on his back on the ground, and then raced for a vehicle. Sylvia hollered to the pair left dangling on the rope.

A force jerked Lydia and Arthur up a few inches. Then more and more. They were being hoisted up. Lydia and Arthur slid down, but already, the rope was several feet off the ground. Everyone on the third floor must be dragging them up.

In the distance, the vehicles Whyte had brought fired on Sylvia's group. The tank locked its cannon sights on the building. Right on Lydia and Arthur. "Oh, come on!" Lydia said. It belched a shot with a deep boom.

She propped her feet against the shutters and Arthur did the same. It was a small chance, but it was all they had. She kicked off as hard as she could at an angle. They swung wildly to the right, twirling like dancers in the air. The wall exploded with a tremendous force, throwing them farther to the side as glass, metal, and shattered stone burst outward.

When they fell back to the front, a wide hole stared back at them. Smoke curled out of the fire-ringed gaping hole, and bits of rubble crumbled off the edge. It was then that Lydia realized that she couldn't hear any guns or crackling fire. In fact, she couldn't hear anything besides a muted shrill whine. She dug into her ears, trying in vain to get some sense of hearing back.

Sylvia's group continued firing on the mercenaries, and she frantically gestured to them. However, the mercenaries were now firing on Lydia and Arthur. A bullet went in and out of Lydia's ribs and she cried out, unable to hear herself. Above, the rope end shook and shuddered. Whyte flung his arms up above, his face red and livid. He had a radio in hand and yelled pointedly at the mercenaries, and then at the tank, supposedly lambasting them for nearly killing his prizes.

Lydia grabbed Arthur around his waist and swung on the rope. When they were near enough to the hole, she jumped in with him. After she landed, she collapsed, rolling on her back and holding her side. She could hardly see the wound, and the heat and foul air did it no favors. In a daze, she made the mistake of standing up in a cloud of smoke. It burned her nostrils and chest, and she hacked up the air immediately. Arthur helped her crawl beneath the smoke and to the end of the hallway, where the air cleared at a fork, with a single working red emergency light remaining. They stopped for a moment to catch their breath as the air baked their skin. Lydia prayed desperately while they brainstormed a plan of escape.

* * *

Mark peeped out of the cut entrance on the first floor at the mercenaries holding the Cave's personnel hostage. The closest mercenaries were to the sides of the entrance. He slipped back in before they could catch him out of the corners of their eyes.

Holding the rifle to his chest, Mark steadied his nerves. He had to do this. Just like before. Only there were more mercenaries, armed with guns, welding torches, grenades, and an APC, Humvees, and a tank waiting in the background. But he had to stop Whyte.

Any time now. He tightened his grip, stepped out, and watched a body fall in front of him. The mercenaries whipped around, guns trained on the mess at their feet, and then on him. Crap.

Before his eyes, the hostages disappeared one by one. The remaining bewildered mercenaries watching them yelled out and killed a couple of the Cave's personnel. Several mercenaries were knocked down, their weapons stolen from them, and shot dead. Lasers and ice balls flew out of the scramble. The mercenaries watching Mark recognized him and turned to the action. All of the hostages bolted for cars in the nearby parking lot and fired back at the mercenaries.

Mark took the opportunity, lining up his barrel with one mercenary's head. He pulled the trigger, the gun kicked up, and a spray of bullets flew wildly in the air. He somehow caught the mercenary in the head. The second mercenary turned, and she and Mark fired on one another. She fell flat after seconds and he shook his shirt, scattering a few bullets hiding in the folds that left burn holes behind.

Ahead, the other mercenaries were too busy to notice the brief firefight behind them. The hostages were escaping one vehicle at a time, while the rest held Whyte's people back. They would be fine. Mark considered running out and leaving with them. He could blaze through the middle, take out a couple mercenaries on the way, and leave.

Heather's face popped into his mind. Not without her. As badly as he wanted to end his involvement in any of this, he steeled his resolve and turned from the entrance. The hostages had the situation under control. Heather needed his help.

Behind him, the entrance exploded in a shower of block and rubble. The opening caved in, crushing the bodies of his kills. Boulders too heavy to move swallowed up the light and cemented his decision. Sealed up in the building, he now had no option except to go forward.

* * *

The building rumbled and bits of glass fell here and there. "Got any ideas, Arthur?" Lydia asked, coughing. Please say yes. Tears blurred her vision, and she rubbed her eyes furiously. Her hearing was slowly returning, albeit she had to really listen. The sprinklers still worked on their side of the hall and doused them and the small fires in cooling water. Lydia lifted her head, greedily gulping every drop and washing the cinder out of her eyes.

"Working on it," Arthur said.

"Let me help," a voice offered from the smoke ahead. Two orbs joined the orange embers floating on the dark clouds and part of the smoke formed a face, like a hellspawn from the fire. Arthur pushed Lydia behind him and Lionel smiled. "Please. Like you can do anything." He leapt into Lydia's mouth.

Lionel wormed his way into her throat and down to her lungs. Her whole chest erupted like fire, and her lungs clogged like she had swallowed a bucket of dirt. Air went in, but bounced back before reaching her lungs. She gulped, spasmed, and flailed on the ground, unable to make a choking noise. Arthur held her down and performed chest compressions while threatening Lionel. That only amused the BEP, and he laughed somewhere within and outside of her.

"Lionel." Whyte crawled out of the smoke next. He had calmed down, and put his hands behind his back. "Don't kill her." Smoke wafted out of Lydia's mouth until it formed Lionel's head and torso. The rest was still inside, but it allowed her to breathe. She swatted at him in vain.

Whyte turned to Arthur and straightened his tie. "We need to finish our fight. Don't worry about Lydia. She's in good hands." Out of the smoke, mercenaries and the rest of Whyte's BEPs steadily joined him. Gary and a few others were missing. It was then that Lydia heard the faint, staccato gunfire outside, followed by another boom from the tank. The fighting had died down. A car screeched on asphalt and sped away. Who had won? How many had escaped?

"Come, Arthur. I don't have all day," he said. Arthur stood his ground, his fists at his sides. "If you're going to be that way, I'll be sure to kill Lydia after I kill you."

Arthur spread his feet and readied himself. Whyte lashed out first this time, catching him in the chest. He drove Arthur farther into a hall, where offices lay open and empty. The spectators followed, Lionel keeping a tight leash on Lydia. "Don't stray too far," he said.

The group followed, Oliver lighting up small fires here and there for everyone to see the fight. At one point, he nearly caught Whyte. "Watch it!" Whyte snarled at Oliver, and sidestepped a blow from Arthur.

"Sorry!"

Whyte slammed Arthur up against one wall and punched his gut repeatedly. Arthur chopped his arms, breaking the hold, and tackled Whyte into an office. He grabbed a desk lamp, swinging it left and right. The lamp base sliced through the air as Whyte jumped side to side. He snatched hold of the lamp, struggling with Arthur for control.

They held a few seconds, growling at one another, the fire highlighting their features like brutal, savage warriors, before Arthur kicked at Whyte's side. The other man took the opportunity to bend out of the way and take the lamp. He swatted Arthur's forehead with the lamp base, and brought it down hard on the point of his skull. Arthur staggered into the door, and Whyte sprang forward and planted his heel deep into Arthur's chest.

The smoke continued to build and soon started to fill the hall. Neither man cared. Arthur only just managed to avoid toppling over as Whyte predicted every move, slapping aside his attacks with ease. The few blows he allowed were simply for a sporting chance and didn't slow him.

As it was, there was no hope of Arthur winning if something didn't change. Lydia reached out several times, but her throat tightened whenever she did. "Stay out of it," Lionel said, gagging her as a reminder.

The culmination was when Arthur led Whyte back into the thick smoke cloud near the hole caused by the tank, with small fires raging all around until they were nearly encircled. "Trying to choke me to death?" Whyte asked. However, there was a slight hesitancy in his stride. The air was heavy with smoke, and Arthur coughed nonstop. "Or are you looking to be cremated?" Whyte entered, unwilling to let Arthur escape.

"If you want, I'll spread your ashes over the Cave," Whyte said. He coughed deeply and Arthur lunged for his midsection, bringing him low enough so that Arthur caught some fresh air and knocked the wind out of Whyte. Whyte shoved him off, stumbling into some flames, and jumped aside, patting out his burning shoes. Arthur came at him again, catching him harder. Whyte elbowed the other man's back, but Arthur kept his grip and lifted Whyte high and slammed him into the ground, dangerously close to the fire.

Lydia's spirits rose and she sat up. Arthur was winning! He straddled Whyte and punched his cheek, snapping his head to the side. Whyte caught his fist on the second swing and pushed back, but Arthur came at him with the other hand, breaking his nose and pushing him toward the flames. Whyte waved his arm, yelping when he brushed the flames and slapping Arthur, reaching for his neck and trying to drag him down.

Amid the crackling smoke and fire and grunts of the fighters, a shot rang out and the battle stopped. Everyone went into shock, most of all the two combatants. Slowly, they dropped their arms and gazed to the point in Arthur's chest where a trickle of blood poured out and stained his shirt. Looking to Whyte, then Lydia, he fell off, breathing heavily.

"No, no," Whyte murmured, wiping his bloody nose and crawling underneath the smoke. He dragged Arthur out into the open, away from the cloud and examined the wound. "No, no, no." He ordered a mercenary over and asked for something to seal the bleeding hole. "Do we have any medkits left? Check the offices. Are there any?"

While the others searched, Gary slunk out of the smoke, hacking and coughing into the crook of his arm. A pistol clattered in his hand with every move. Whyte connected the dots immediately and snatched the man. Through clenched, furious teeth, he asked one word at a time, "What? Did? You? Do?"

"I-I-I thought he was going to kill you!" he squeaked. "It looked like he had the upper hand!"

"Idiot! Do you really think I wouldn't have won?" He rattled Gary and lifted him up into the wall, then threw him to the ground.

One of the mercenaries reported back that there were no medkits to be found on the floor. Whyte cursed and yelled at the top of his lungs. He cast a glance at Arthur and then at Gary, and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down. "This was not how I wanted it to end."

"Sir, maybe we could take him with us and he can be saved," Gary began, but Whyte cut him off.

"No, he can't. You made sure of that."

Already, Arthur's breathing was worsening and his face was losing its color. He turned to Lydia but she didn't know what to do. What could she do? He was going to die. But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Gary said.

Whyte extended a hand and helped Gary to his feet. "Answer me something. When I let you join, what did I tell you? Do you remember?" Gary mumbled a reply. "Speak up. I can't hear you."

"That Arthur was yours."

"Right. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? How many nights I've dreamed of killing Arthur right here, in this very cave?" Gary opened his mouth to answer, thought better of it, and snapped it shut. "Do you not think I could've ended him as soon as he climbed up the rope? Do you not think I could've called on my men to rip him to ribbons? I wanted to relish this, enjoy it, and savor it."

He took the pistol from Gary's hands, frowned at it, and aimed it in Arthur's direction. "All I could do now is put him down. You've taken that great pleasure from me. Do you know what that feels like?" Gary looked at his boss with sincere remorse. "It's like," Whyte waved the gun around, "being woken from a wonderful dream. Like watching your prized possession get stomped to pieces. It's like...," a gunshot echoed and Gary looked down at the hot barrel pressed against his stomach, "a lot like that."

Clutching his stomach, Gary stumbled and slumped against the wall. He raised his eyes to Whyte, his lips quivering. "No, please. I didn't mean to." A quick bullet to the shoulder shut him up, and he dissolved into agonized cries.

"Yes, exactly like that," Whyte said. He crouched beside Arthur, who was wheezing hard and swallowing air. "I guess we can't always get what we want, huh?" Arthur glared at him, only heaving in reply. "I won't apologize. I will say I really hate for it to end like this. You weren't bad. Not good enough, but not bad." He leaned in close, and Lydia barely caught his next words. "Fitting that you and this place die together. So long, Arthur."

He snapped his fingers at his people. "Let's move. Oliver," he said, motioning with his thumb at Gary, "take care of him."

Oliver squinted his eyes and smiled. "With pleasure." While two mercenaries dragged Lydia to the stairs, Arthur reached out to her. His trembling fingertips brushed her foot before he succumbed to the pain and dropped his arm, clinging to the last bit of life. In the background, Gary whimpered as Oliver chuckled. "Hey, Gary. How about a game of 'Hot Foot'? Think you can beat Harper's score?"
Chapter 26- Redundant and Obsolete

Mark crept up the Center's stairs, holding tight to the railing. The only bit of light shone from underneath the doors to each floor. As he reached the second floor, he flattened beside the door and held his rifle straight up, ready to shoot. He had run out of bullets, but no one else would know that.

A herd of footsteps clopped rapidly outside the door. He flew up the stairs, clearing two or three at a time, and hid on the third-floor landing. "We're on our way out," Whyte's voice echoed all around Mark. "Get Heather and yourselves out. Emeryl, tell anyone inside the Center to regroup with us at the first-floor rear exit. Everyone should be ready to leave in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Mark held his breath until he heard their feet fade downstairs. He was out of time. He looked up at the third-floor door. Heather wasn't on the first floor. He knew that much. And why would Whyte exit the second floor and leave her behind, only to ask for her to be brought down?

He entered the third floor and jogged down the halls. Every door was exactly the same, except for the different nameplates. He felt like he was back on the oil rig again. How did the employees find anything?

Soon, he heard voices nearby and snuck along to the door they were coming from. There was a large boot print on the door and scuffled marks along the floor. Bingo.

He turned the knob and kicked the door open, hitting someone with it. Much to his chagrin, however, the mercenary behind the door wasn't knocked out, merely annoyed and sore. A gun rounded the edge of the door until the mercenary recognized him. "Oh, it's you." He dropped the gun and dragged Mark in, muttering under his breath. "That really hurt."

Inside, a second mercenary lowered another to the bottom of the Cave via a rope line while Heather stood by. Mark's face lit up and he almost ran to her. But as the grumbling mercenary walked by him to grab his gear, he saw his opportunity. He caught Heather's eye and twisted his rifle slightly, asking her. She gave him an imperceptible headshake and glanced out the hole in the window.

Mark peered over the edge. Down below, Whyte ordered the mercenaries around while they loaded up the still-working APC and Humvees. The inoperable APC and any decimated Humvees were pushed next to the Center and planted with explosives.

After the man guarding the door slid down the rope, the remaining mercenary handed the rope to Heather. "You next." She slid down, and then Mark, and they were escorted to Whyte. To his side, Valerie and Roy each carried one of Lydia's arms, while Lionel weaved in and out between their bodies, his legs jammed down Lydia's throat.

"Nice to see you survived," Whyte said to Mark. "I was beginning to think we underestimated your durability."

"Where are Oliver and Sheila?" he asked.

"Oliver's with Gary," Roy said.

"Who?"

"My inside man. Oliver was wrapping things up with him," Whyte said, watching the mercenaries finish with the explosives on the damaged APC. Mark read between the lines all too well and his hands twitched. Whyte seemed to turn briefly to the massive burning crater in the second floor, where fire licked the upper and lower sections of the building, tasting its next meal. Mark wondered how much of that fire had been caused by Oliver.

"And Sheila's still unaccounted for," Whyte continued. Emeryl ran up to them, radio in hand.

"Still can't raise Sheila at all," he said. "No one's seen her in a while. We did a quick sweep, but there are too many rooms to check, and some caved in from the tank."

"Forget it then," Whyte said. "We don't have time to search for her. Arthur's call will have the FBI and more BEP agents here soon enough."

The mention of Arthur seemed to revive Lydia from her sedative state and she leapt up, decking Valerie hard enough so that her head sailed clear across to the Center's entrance. Roy held her arm, but she grabbed his and twisted. Lionel slipped fully into her throat, choking her to the verge of passing out. Whyte stepped up and swung at her head, knocking her out and ending the short outburst.

"Stubborn to the last," he said. "Arthur would be proud."

Roy threw her over his shoulder and carried her out, while Valerie's body searched for her head. She called the body to her, but it staggered around, arms out to the floor, like a drunken fool about to retch in a corner. "Over here! No, that's a rock! Here!"

Whyte returned to the matter at hand. "What about the escaped cars? Did the helicopters find anything?"

"They found and destroyed a couple of cars outside, sir," Emeryl said. "But there's no sign of where their escape tunnel exits exactly. They'll keep searching."

"Only for another half hour," he said. "I want to be long gone from here by the time anyone arrives. Plant the bodies and get everything else ready."

Bodies? As the group climbed into Whyte's car, the mercenaries unloaded the black bags they had brought in the APCs and Humvees. It was only then that Mark saw they were body bags. They unloaded the corpses and arranged them with weapons. Each wore the jacket of the Children of the New Age, a purple jacket emblazoned with a nondescript figure, his fist in the air against a white sun. In all, there were maybe forty members total, some dropped in the parking lot, others in the Center and other buildings, all set up as if they died attacking the BEP Division.

"Whew, it's nice to have that smell out of there," one of the mercenaries said.

The rest of the mercenaries went through their dead, burning them, stripping them of their gear and shooting them beyond recognition, or setting them up near the APC and Humvees armed with explosives.

As soon as they were done, the cars, APC, and Humvees drove out of the Cave, leaving the tank at the entrance. Its cannon rumbled several times, blowing holes in the buildings and Cave's ceiling, collapsing rock on the battlefield. Then it joined the rest of the convoy far enough from the Cave. Whyte had his car stop in the lead and stepped out. Emeryl threw him a detonator from the APC, while the larger vehicles loaded up into the semitrailer trucks.

Whyte cradled the device and held it close to his heart. He pressed the large button on top, and a distant boom reached them after a few seconds. The mountain itself seemed to shake and fall apart from within, like Mark and Heather's hopes. Their last decent chance, snuffed out for good.

For a minute, Whyte inhaled shaky, shivering breaths and stood there, basking in the moment. Then he tossed the detonator to Emeryl and said, "Tell them to send out the video." He climbed back into the car and they were off.

* * *

Much to Mark's surprise, they didn't return to the Pacific base. Rather, they drove for hours to the northern edge of Michigan, seemingly traveling aimlessly and veering onto random routes until they reached a path that led into some woods. The trucks with the APC and tank barely fit, and everyone had to enter slowly in single file.

At the end of the path, a small building was buried in a hill neighboring the coast of Lake Superior. The mercenaries immediately placed mines, patrols, and other defenses around the area, while Whyte and his entourage of BEPs entered the building.

It seemed like it hadn't been used in years. Or barely used to begin with. Mark stayed with Heather by the entrance, keeping lookout for any window they could escape from. Whyte and the other BEPs headed deep inside, turning on the power and checking the place out.

"Where are we?" he asked Heather.

"One of Whyte's research stations," she said. "They're like his bases. He has them scattered all over."

"What are we doing here?"

"Lying low for now," Whyte answered, flipping on the lights. Farther inside were rooms set up like the laboratories on the oil rig. "At least until my video has circulated."

"Of?"

He smiled. "You'll see. Now, help them bring in Lydia and let's get started on this formula."

* * *

Copper. Blood. That was the first thing Lydia smelled, filling up her nose and trickling down the back of her throat. She turned her head and spat on the ground, which was about all she could do. Her hands and feet were strapped in metal clamps, and she was lying on a freezing medical table.

She flexed her hands and wrists, straining at the metal. Without the braces, she felt every ounce of pressure and pain as she exerted herself. Her side split, reminding her of the bullet wound, and she bit down a cry.

Where was she? Where was everyone? Were they dead? The last thing she remembered was the Cave and Arthur. Arthur dying and Whyte kidnapping her. She looked up, her eyes slowly adjusting to the light. She was in some sort of sterile examination room. Or perhaps an operating room where surgeries were performed. Is that what was going to happen to her? Were they going to slice her open? Or torture her? Or worse? Was she going to die here? No, I have to get out of here! She lifted up and jerked against the restraints. I have to get out of here!

She stopped moving when she heard a whirring noise above her. Raising her head, she saw two guns, roof-mounted turrets, directed at her. She twisted her body to the side and they followed her. When she opened her hand, they snapped to the movement. She lay still, panting heavily, trying to think clearly how to break out with their monitoring her.

"Don't wiggle too much," Whyte said, entering and stopping short of the turrets' view. "Move out of the designated area and they'll shoot you."

She snarled. "Where am I?"

He aimed a remote at the turrets, pressed a button, and they deactivated, hanging limp, as did the only security camera in the room. "In one of my facilities," he said, coming closer. He tucked the remote away and exchanged it for a pistol, discouraging her from taking advantage of the brief security drop.

For now, there was no sense in her fighting, and she took a calming breath. "What do you want with me?" she asked, suppressing any fear in her voice.

"I think you know." He pointed at her arm, where an IV tube was already inserted. "Only a matter of time until I have my own army of superstrong, invincible soldiers."

"And then what? You'll edge out your competitors?"

He laughed and shook his head. "No, no. Nothing so simple. That's the problem with the BEP Division. You think too small and it makes you small."

"They weren't small enough for you," she said. "Arthur told me all about how you wanted to join them, and you were too unstable for it."

"No, I was too good for it," he said, walking to her side and picking up the table's remote. He held down a button, straightening the table so that she sat erect and at his level. "Arthur didn't realize my potential. He wanted to lock me away in my small town and have me go back to my average home, with my average parents, to live out an average life in an average place until I died. I had tasted greatness and I refused to be denied it. Not when I deserved that."

"You deserve the chair," she said.

He drummed his fingers on the table and leaned against it. "Arthur did me a favor. I realized that instead of winning the BEP Division's approval, I would craft my own empire. And I have, one I can align to my vision, one where people flock to join me. Going after your little division wasn't anything personal. Yes, I did have to put on a show for Gary and all the rest, but it was all an act. The truth is more simple. The BEP Division interfered with my affairs. And that's not good for business."

"You kill people and fund terrorists."

"And business is booming, no pun intended," he said, enjoying his joke. "Cures and betterment for the world is all well and good. Helps win support, but it doesn't pay the bills. And, let's be honest: PMC work is essentially patch jobs, working for one country one day, and then their enemy the next. to keep the status quo so you always have business; it isn't the most rewarding or satisfying of endeavors. So, Ms. Penner, what is there left for a man like me who's already achieved so much? What more can this country offer me?"

"Extradition?"

"Nothing," he said, correcting her. "At least, nothing on its own. But many countries together, or perhaps, all the countries..."

It was her turn to burst out laughing. "Are you seriously talking about what I think you are? Taking over the world?" She kept chuckling. "No, I know what we can offer you: a reality check, because you must think you're a supervillain."

He waited for her laughing to die out and offered a wry grin. "No, Ms. Penner. Not take over the world. Influence it. Work from behind the scenes. For its betterment, of course."

"Of course," she said, rolling her eyes. "How?"

"Why, thanks to you," he said. "With this formula, I'll have the ultimate unstoppable assassins and the best security forces the world can buy. If someone opposes my proposed ideas for improving the state of things, I'll only need to send in one man or woman to silence them. If a politician who has hired my forces decides to adopt a policy I find foolish for that country, then it might be time for a new election. Or a coup. Whatever I wish."

She glared at him. "You're insane."

"No, it's good business sense. Why rule openly and earn ire and opposition when you can give people the illusion that they rule themselves? It's all about offering the illusion of choice."

"It won't work," she said. "Countries will stand up to you."

"I've already convinced some to hire my forces to deal with terrorists or rogue BEPs," he said. "And after today's fiasco, I should think the United States will come around, seeing how ineffective their BEP Division was. I would think my new BEPs will more than match any that Arthur had. Not to mention that my base is still standing, whereas the Cave is, well," he twirled his hand, "let's say it's like Arthur: gone."

The Cave? Gone? "You're lying."

He shook his head. "Why lie? I've already won." He grinned. "None of your friends or Arthur can help anymore. They're all buried beneath that pile of rubble that used to be the Cave."

She rattled the restraints, twisting her body and ripping off one holding down her ankle. "I'll kill you!" she yelled at the top of her lungs and bared her teeth. "I will kill you!"

His pistol went off and she stopped. Bits of the ceiling crumbled onto her forehead from the small hole above. "Calm down or the next one goes into your leg."

She leaned up, straining the restraints, and he shoved her down with the pistol. "For someone who can see the future, you have to know you'll never get away with this. The government will come after you."

His grin widened, as if she was missing a joke. He checked the room, ensuring that it was clear, and whispered close to her ear, out of any sight or hearing of anybody who may be attempting to eavesdrop. "Want to hear a secret?" She kept an eye on the gun, calculating if she could break one restraint and snatch it. "I actually can't see the future."

She turned to him, startled. "What?"

He tilted her head back so his lips tickled her ear. "See, I have hypersensory awareness. Far beyond any human level."

"But Arthur—"

"I can almost 'see' any danger or what will happen next. Or I can anticipate a likely response through variations in body language, like how your fists and angry eyes scream to kill me." He patted her hand. "It's like I'm living in a multiverse of what the next seconds could be, what's most likely to happen. Not too hard to fool most people. A handful have their doubts about the extent of my power, but they all believe I can at least predict my future. Not a bad way to keep people in line. Everything else, like my business sense, is just a sharp mind, knowing how to read people, and hard work." His eyes flashed with maniacal glee. "If I can convince everyone I can see the future, how hard do you think it will be to manipulate people from the shadows? It's all a matter of deception."

Two questions presented themselves. Did this allow Lydia a chance to beat him? Perhaps. From his description of his ability, it would be extremely difficult, but not impossible. The second was why would he tell her a big secret like that? Unless he planned to execute her soon.

He sensed her anxiety and squeezed her arm. "Now, now. Don't get up. Rest while you still can." He stepped out of range of the turrets, then activated them and the camera. and they all snapped to the ready.

"I will beat you," she said.

He hummed to himself. "I suppose it goes without saying that you wouldn't consider joining my little team? You would do well here." She collected all the phlegm and spit she could muster and hocked the huge, slimy wad in his face. "Ah, there's that Arthur spirit," he said, disgusted and wiping the spit on his sleeve. "Good to see it lives on. Maybe it will in your blood, too."

"He was better than you."

He shrugged. "Too bad we'll never know for sure. I did admire the man's commitment to his cause, and he was a decent fighter. However, ordinary can't beat extraordinary."

She sat up as far as she could, ignoring the turrets' warning clicks. "The only thing extraordinary about you is your ego," she spat. "You're like any other dime-a-dozen rogue BEP, and we'll do the same to you as we did to them. Because you're no better."

His face hardened, and he spoke in an even tone, while holding the gun carefully at her heart. "No, I'm not better, Ms. Penner. I am the best. And soon, everyone will know that." For a long moment, Lydia believed he would shoot her right there and then, but he holstered his pistol and swept out of the room, leaving her with the turrets. She lay down and stiffened her body, willing it not to shake, and turned from the camera, hiding the tears for those at the Cave.

* * *

Dr. Sullivan and Yonkers arrived the next day and went to work immediately, taking samples of Lydia's blood and comparing it to Rooke's formula over the next few days. Mark watched from behind a window, overseeing the lab half a floor below, his despair growing throughout the process. Whyte hadn't spoken much to him outside of approving nods and asking, "Doing well?"

Heather received much the same treatment, and the two kept each other company amid the others. Mark was ecstatic to have Heather back and even better, they had a bedroom to themselves off to the side from the others. Mark actually slept through the night soundly. Waking up to Heather expelling her gas into the air was a welcome change from Oliver leering over the bed.

They caught each other up on all that had occurred since Golden Springs, but they rarely had a chance to talk about their next move. Every now and then, they found a few minutes to spare away from prying eyes. "I could time my gas, but he'll see it coming," she said. "And I haven't managed to get my hands on a gun yet."

"Perhaps poison?" he suggested. "I'm sure there's plenty of deadly stuff in the lab."

"Even if that worked, we need an escape. That's most important."

She was right on that point. The doors didn't open often, and there were always patrols outside, along with the vehicles. The front was out, although there was no back entrance either. He had considered explosives, but according to Heather, the rear of the base ran down and under Lake Superior.

A few days after Yonkers and Sullivan arrived, Mark woke early to a breakfast tray. "Breakfast in bed? You spoil me, Heather."

"Eat up," she said, smirking.

Still half asleep, but already famished, he gobbled down the eggs and pancakes, and washed them down with the glass of milk and orange juice. He had had an idea yesterday for where they might find equipment to escape, and he wanted to get there quickly. A hard piece of pancake trickled down his throat and he coughed, pounding his chest and drinking until it dropped down. It had an odd, sour flavor. Heather gave him a raised eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess it was a little overcooked," he said. He finished and left his tray on the bed and then rushed down the hall, hardly saying good-bye to Heather. He had spotted his opportunity in the locker room. Yesterday, the mercenaries on guard had been idle after their shift ended, and they'd left their lockers wide open, while chatting and walking around. He hoped he would get lucky enough today for the same and find some equipment to help them.

The small armory in the locker room was shut tight, but like yesterday, a couple of mercenaries were joking around off to the side in the locker room, while their lockers stood open out of their view. Mark strolled in as casually as he could and fought the urge to cough, while he rifled through their belongings. In a bag, he found a detonator and a few C4s. He snagged one, and the detonator, and coughed softly in his arm. He skipped out before anyone checked on the noise.

Heather was not in their room, so he quickly stashed the items under his mattress. Knock, knock. Mark jerked around and plopped on his bed. Oliver poked his head around the door, and grinned hugely, his eyes shut. "Mark? You in here?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Come on," Oliver said. "You're going to miss it."

"Miss what?"

"The news."

* * *

Oliver and Mark headed to the break room, where Whyte, the BEPs, and Emeryl were gathered around a television, sitting on sofas and folding chairs. Mark grabbed a chair next to Heather as a news anchor shuffled his papers. The tagline read "Rising Terror Group: Children of the New Age."

"Our top story is the stunning video that has been released by the radical group, Children of the New Age," the anchor announced. "Until recently, only considered a small anarchist cell, the group recently attacked City Hall in Fairfax, Virginia, and have now released a video claiming responsibility for two more attacks."

The screen switched to a figure sitting behind a table, his face in shadows, but wearing the group's symbol on his shirt. His voice was filtered into a warble. "The common people have suffered too long the corruption of their government, whose only interest is securing their own positions of power. These attacks are a warning to those vile, festering sores of this country. You are not safe, and there will be no rest until we have usurped your throne of decadence and broken it in two over your head, as you break the backs of the people you claim to represent."

The anchor returned. "The video goes on to claim responsibility for a recent attack on a government facility in Michigan and an earlier raid on a federal convoy, which authorities originally believed to be perpetrated by the Overwatch private military corporation. Authorities had been searching for the owner, Roland Whyte, to question him about his organization's connection to the attack. According to a spokesman for the company, Mr. Whyte has offered to help authorities in any way possible. He apologized for his absence, explaining that he had been personally investigating the matter."

Another anchor at the desk took over. "Initial reports from the company claim that two facilities operated by their clients, but stocked with Overwatch equipment and weapons bought from the PMC, were raided and many items stolen, including those used in the attacks. The spokesman said that Whyte himself would issue a public statement as soon as Overwatch had the results of their investigation and would cooperate fully with the government in this matter."

A brief video of the bespectacled spokesman played, as he faced a crowd of photographers and reporters. "We are deeply saddened by this event, and our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of the victims. We will work nonstop with the United States government to bring justice to those involved in these heinous crimes."

The story ended there, and Valerie spun her head around to Emeryl. "You're a terrible actor."

"The script wasn't great either," he said. She threw a hand at him and it flicked his ear.

"Wait, what?" Mark asked. "That was you?" Emeryl nodded and Whyte shut off the television. "But the Children of the New Age—"

"Are no more," Whyte finished for him. "We dumped the last members in the Cave. They are now defunct."

"A scapegoat," Heather murmured.

"The perfect problem to alleviate everyone's worry with the new formula. Which should be ready this week."

Mark pieced the rest together. A way to cover Overwatch's involvement. Shift the blame like they had for other terrorist groups in foreign countries. With everyone fearing the Children of the New Age, Whyte could swoop in with his upgraded mercenaries, providing the kind of protection the public would crave. And if the people had his back, there would be little to stop him.

Whyte clapped his hands together. "But there is something else that is ready now." He looked pointedly at Heather, and Mark sensed her shift in her chair. He couldn't blame her. He didn't like Whyte's too-friendly expression either. "I believe I have an end of a deal to hold up." He curled his finger to a lab technician at the door, who handed him a long metal pen case.

Inside lay a syringe with an opaque, gray fluid. He thanked the technician and held out the syringe to Heather. She and Mark gawked at it, and the boy believed she had the same severe doubts he had. This couldn't possibly be what Whyte hinted at.

"Your cure," Whyte said.

All eyes were on her now and she swallowed, her bulging scarf swelling. "What about Mark?" she asked.

"I said, 'I'll think about releasing him.'"

"And?"

He twirled the syringe in his fingers. "I'm reluctant to let him go, but if all goes well with the formula, he'll be obsolete, won't he? No sense keeping him around. Kind of redundant."

She tapped her legs. Mark knew she didn't trust Whyte and was stalling, seeking a way out. He was, too, although there was no option open. The door was shut and Lionel hovered near it.

"I have your word?" It was a useless question. His word was no better than anyone else's in the room. More time. They needed an exit. Mark cursed his not bringing the C4 with him. However, Whyte had probably already anticipated every move they would make.

"Yes," he said, coming closer, the syringe outstretched. "Here."

Emeryl placed an arm on her shoulder, firmly. Oliver did the same to Mark, and his eyes burned bright with orange flame. Everyone else seemed coiled like a spring, ready to leap up at a moment's notice. She exchanged a quick look with Mark. That same sympathetic look she had given him at Leonard's house right before leaving him.

No, he shook his head.

Heather grabbed Emeryl's arm, twisted it until there was a pop!, and circled around behind him. She lifted the pistol fused to his hand and aimed at Whyte. She fired rapidly, and he dipped and weaved around every bullet, coming closer to her with every shot. Finally, he was on her as the gun clicked.

She opened her mouth wide, the hint of black smoke wafting to her teeth, but Whyte quickly stabbed her bubble throat with the needle, injecting the fluid inside. She gasped and the smoke died at her lips.

"No!" Mark yelled, pushing against Oliver's hands. Valerie teamed up with Oliver, detaching her arms and legs. The legs twisted around Mark's own, preventing him from kicking, and the arms locked his behind his back. "No!"

Whyte held the needle in until the last drop, then ripped it out. Heather fell over, releasing Emeryl, and gagged, holding the hole in her throat. "What?" she managed before devolving into short, constant wheezes.

Lifting the syringe, Whyte said, "The only cure for you: your lethal gas in fluid form. Now you know what your victims go through. How does it feel?"

She scratched at his legs and he stepped back. She rose to her feet, the smoke returning, and grabbed his shirt for a full blast to his face. He stabbed her throat again with the syringe, then in another spot and another until he snapped the needle off. She clutched her throat, and a faint wispy smoke, a light gray color, escaped between her fingers. A trail of blood flowed behind it.

"No!" Mark screamed at the top of his lungs. The hands and legs holding him slackened and he dove to Heather's side, cradling her, never minding the thin gas already dissipating. He held her propped on his knee, checking the stab marks, smearing the crimson stains for a better look. Her neck was rapidly deflating and her eyes dulled and faded.

Her hand fumbled around his shoulder and hair. Shaking and using the last of her strength, she rested her chin on his shoulder and pressed her lips to his ear as if to share some secret. He strained his ears, but all he heard were her dying gasps. She gave up and dropped her arms around his torso, squeezed weakly, and became limp.

Mark braced himself against her lifeless stare. She was gone. Heather was gone. He snorted and buried his face in her chest, staining her shirt with tears. She couldn't be gone. They were supposed to escape together and leave all this far behind. Now the last bright spot in this miserable place— in his life—floated away like the last of the gray smoke. He was back to square one, surrounded by enemies and without her.

A shadow loomed over him. "Why?" Mark asked without looking behind him.

"I'm not willing to take the chance that her third betrayal would be the charm," Whyte said. "And why take the chance when I have Lionel? It would make her rather redundant." He turned his head, saying, "You two, get rid of her."

Valerie and Emeryl tore Heather from his hands. Mark clung to her waist, refusing to let go. It took Oliver's holding Mark down and Valerie's prying off his fingers before they could drag the body out of the room. "Any longer with her and you would've been in the same boat," Whyte said. "You still have time to convince me you deserve a second chance. At least before Sullivan and Yonkers are done."

"And I become redundant?" Mark growled.

He picked up the empty syringe and handed it to the technician on his way out. "Precisely."
Chapter 27- Exposed Flaw

For the rest of the day, Mark shut himself in his room, a flood of emotions storming in his chest. He wanted to deny Heather's death and to pretend that it was some elaborate ruse, either on her part to escape and to come help him later, or on Whyte's to coerce his loyalty. But he had held her, felt her life leave her body. He knew what death looked like all too well, and she was truly gone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her choking and fading to a corpse-white hue.

He wasn't sure whether to cry, roar to the heavens, or let his mind recede from the real world until he was on another plane of existence. So he swapped back and forth between all three for hours on end. Thankfully, nobody checked in on him during the day. He would have either bitten their head off or proven to Whyte how incapable he was to handle all this.

But sometime in the evening, when his rumbling stomach finally interrupted the cycle, he realized he would have to emerge from his room eventually. And he would have to put on a brave front, act like Heather did. Or used to.

Mark could almost hear her now, berating him for lying there and doing nothing. She wouldn't want him to sit there like a blubbering lump. She would demand action and that he escape. That was the one thing she asked of him, the final thing, and he would do it. No matter how impossible or how hopeless were their—his—chances of beating Whyte, he would find a way out. If not for her sake, then because one of them had to.

She would agree with me. He hopped off the bed and strolled throughout the facility, forgetting his hunger and determined to escape. The first thing he mentally noted were the cameras and how fast or slow they turned back and forth. Once satisfied that he had enough knowledge of the layout and where the security's eyes could see, he headed to his room, bumping into Roy in the hall.

"Oh, you're up," he said. Mark didn't answer him and Roy held out a plate of food. A baked potato, some carrots, and green beans. "I thought you might be hungry."

Mark accepted the food and muttered a "Thanks," surprised at how froggy his voice sounded.

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments and as Mark stepped around him, Roy said, "Hey, uh, look, about He—" he stopped and started again. "I mean, I know what it's like to lose a friend."

Mark snorted. "Friend" was an understatement. Yet he couldn't allow any anger to show. That would only raise suspicions around him, and he would have to deal with stricter surveillance.

"Or someone close to you," Roy added. "I've lost brothers and sisters in the service. They were like family. So if you need to talk, you can bend my ear, yeah?" He laid a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder, his eyes sorrowful, and Mark knew Roy was trying to sympathize with him. "I don't like it either. I'm sorry it happened."

Mark almost relented and believed Roy had greatly disapproved of Whyte's action. But Roy was part of this and another reminder of Whyte. And Heather had died not an honorable death in service to her country but stabbed in the back. The bile stirred in his throat, and it took great effort not to fling the plate down the hall and push Roy away.

It required all his effort when Oliver waltzed down the hall— brushing against the wall and using Mark's head as guidance— not to rip Oliver's arm out of his socket and go on a murder spree, starting with Whyte. Or maybe Valerie's arm would be easier. "I better go eat this before it gets cold," he said and slipped away from them and back to his room.

He set the plate aside, closed his door, and waited until five minutes before nine. Then he stole his way to the armory and made it in time for the guard change. He stole a few grenades and another C4, and then he stowed them under his mattress and waited for everyone to retire to their rooms.

Once most everyone was in bed, he put his plan into action. Mark tucked both C4 into his pants and snuck down the hall, avoiding the cameras and staying out of sight. He had mapped out the path in his mind with the fewest cameras, and after many long, intense stretches of time, waiting for a camera to turn and hoping no one would happen upon him, he reached a long hallway. It went down deep, deep to the back room at the farthest end of the facility and at least a couple of levels below any other rooms.

Right under Lake Superior.

It was pretty empty, save for a few computers and some archived projects tucked away under tarps and in filing cabinets. Behind all of that was a small pantry, with shelves along the square wall and in the center, allowing only four people at most to squeeze in.

Checking that no one was inside either room, he slipped into the dark pantry. There was a scant amount of light from the main room, so that he could mostly see what he was doing. He climbed the middle shelves and placed one C4 directly on the ceiling above the central shelves. Then, using an unsteady filing cabinet, he stuck one above the overhanging lamps in the main room. He had watched the mercenaries place enough so that he was half sure he set them up right. He would find out soon. With luck, no one would see the C4 until he was ready tomorrow.

Once the C4 blew, everyone would rush to this area to deal with the emergency, leaving a path at the front door wide open. Not a perfect plan. Definitely quick and dirty. However, it was all he could do on short notice.

Some part of him told him that Whyte probably knew what he was up to, but he didn't care. He had to try. For Heather.

* * *

The next morning, during breakfast, Whyte called for everyone to assemble in one of the laboratories. Mark dropped by his room and grabbed the detonator and grenades, hoping such a large assembly would give him the perfect opportunity to escape.

Sullivan and Yonkers stood beside Whyte in the lab, each with triumphant smiles. Mark guessed the news he had for them before he said it. Whyte lifted a syringe, filled with a purple-pink liquid.

"Ladies and gentleman, I give you the future of Overwatch! A formula to give anyone super-strength and invulnerability!" He received polite applause and lowered the syringe. "After months and months, we've finally done it, and within the next few weeks, we will be manufacturing Rooke's accidental concoction en masse. Let's give a big hand to the geniuses behind it." He stepped aside and led another applause for Sullivan and Yonkers, who both bowed and thanked them. "And our special guest, Lydia, who provided us with the crucial piece for this breakthrough. Sadly, she couldn't make it to this meeting." A few people chuckled and clapped for her.

"So," Whyte asked, "who's first?"

Several hands shot up and Oliver jumped to the front of the crowd, pushing anyone in his way aside. "Oh! Oh! Pick me! Pick me!"

Sullivan coughed into her hand and took over the speech. "I'm afraid we haven't been able to make it compatible with BEPs quite yet. Only unaltered people for now. Sorry."

Oliver was crestfallen, as if he had been told he couldn't have any ice cream for dessert. Whyte picked out one of the mercenary volunteers and injected him with the formula. The effect was instantaneous. The mercenary dropped to the floor, rolling around in agony and clenching his entire body. His skin turned beet red and frothed at the mouth as he yelled incoherently. Mark wondered if the pain was amplified since the mercenary received both powers.

After a couple of minutes passed, the pain subsided and two other mercenaries helped the volunteer stand up. His face was pale and drenched in sweat, and he was gasping for air, like a fish out of water.

Yonkers brought over a chair and they set the mercenary down in it. "Now, let's test it, shall we?" Whyte asked one of the mercenaries for a knife, and they passed him a long, sharp blade, bright and gleaming. He admired it for a moment, then stabbed it directly into the man's forehead.

The blade stuck at the tip, never breaking the skin.

Whyte pushed and pushed as hard as possible, but the knife couldn't penetrate. He handed the blade to the altered mercenary, who snapped the steel in two like a twig and crushed the pieces in his fists. All without an ounce of pain to his body.

The formula was a success. Once the rounds of applause and cheering settled down, Whyte returned the broken knife and asked for a pistol instead. "Now, although we have unlocked the formula," he said, "it isn't full strength. The results have varied. So while this one can stop a knife..." He trailed off, aimed the gun at the mercenary's thigh, and fired. The bullet went through clean and the volunteer howled, grabbing his leg and toppling off the chair. "It won't stop a bullet."

A couple of mercenaries dragged their friend away to the infirmary. "There are still plenty of dangers, whether invulnerable or not. Can't have you becoming too complacent," he said. But the real reason was as plain as day: he could create the actual, full formula anytime—if he unlocked it. Yet if anyone had a mind to betray him, he could kill them as easily as a normal person this way. After Mark's own stunts with Heather, he shouldn't be shocked that Whyte would do this.

"Maybe we'll even figure out something to prevent drowning or choking. Eh, Mark?" he asked him. The boy avoided his gaze and Whyte rounded on Yonkers. "The next test, please."

Yonkers left for a minute and returned with a spotted, snowy beagle and a tabby cat. Whyte's own pets. "These two have already been injected with one of our stronger formulas."

In other words, max strength, Mark thought. The full formula.

"Observe." Sullivan handed Whyte a bone and he wagged it in front of the dog's face. Mark didn't even want to know where it came from. Or from whom. "Come on, Snips! Come on!"

The dog barked and lunged for the bone, sinking its teeth into it. It actually jerked Whyte around before tearing the bone in two. It snatched the remaining piece out of his hand, then gnawed on both ends on the floor.

"Whew! She's a vicious one!" Whyte laughed and scratched the dog behind the ears. Then he climbed a ladder provided by Yonkers and, once at the top, Yonkers passed him the cat. He placed it in a tall, rectangular glass container with air holes, held on either side by what appeared to be a large vice. Underneath were five rows of five tubes apiece, which poked inside and covered the width and most of the length of the container.

"Stand back," Whyte said, joining the audience. "You're about to see how much this can really withstand! Whenever you're ready, doctors."

Sullivan pressed a button on a panel below the vice, and Mark inhaled a whiff of ash. A burning smell. He registered what was happening and clamped his teeth. They couldn't be. Not this. But as the tubes started to glow hot like Oliver's eyelids, he knew it to be true.

Maybe Whyte had solved that weakness? That didn't stop Mark's feet shuffling backward into the crowd as everyone pressed closer to watch.

The flames leapt out, engulfing the cat in the middle. Whyte's face fell. He already sensed something was wrong. Had he done this to expose Mark then?

The tabby cat screeched and moaned, throwing itself against the glass and scrambling for the too-high edge. The dog raised its head, abandoning its bone, and barked. "Shut it off," Whyte said.

Sullivan was distracted by the unnatural death throes of the cat as it tried to put out the flames. Her stretched smile fell into a forced grimace as the ball of fire tumbled back and forth.

"Shut it off!" Whyte yelled louder.

Sullivan powered down the tubes, but it was too late. The cat was little more than a furry lump caught in the blaze. The fur reeked and everyone held their noses, passing worried glances all around, while Whyte stared at what remained of his pet.

By the time Whyte approached the glass and pressed a hand against it, Mark was at the edge of the crowd. He couldn't see his face, but the man's hand curled into a fist. "Mark!" he bellowed.

The boy dashed for the door. Only Roy stood beside it and he made a grab for Mark. A lame, slow grab that Mark deftly avoided. As soon as he was out of the room, he dropped a grenade and sprinted down the hall as fast as he could. "Grenade!" someone yelled. A few seconds later, an explosion rumbled the floor, but Mark kept running. Security would be on high alert now. The front entrance was out of the question. He had to hide and set off the C4 before the assembly recovered, then hope to sneak out during the confusion.

"Come back here!" Someone was already after him? He chanced a peek over his shoulder and yelped at Lionel, closing in behind him. "Stop now or I'll make it worse, you maggot!"

Wherever Mark hid, Lionel would slip in. Mark could think only of the back room. It would seriously alter his plan. However, it was his only shot and his feet took him there. He almost stumbled down the sloping hall, and when he reached the room, he threw the door shut and dove into the black pantry. Moments later, he heard breathing and smelled that ashy scent that clung to Lionel like bad aftershave.

"Didn't think you had the gall to let Whyte burn his pet to death." Lionel gave a cursory once-over of the room and honed in on the pantry. "Interesting little weakness you have though. Maybe you and Whyte can hash this out. With Oliver there as a mediator."

Mark backed into the far corner, his rear sinking into one of the shelves. Lionel's frayed edges entered the pantry, and he swept his eyes across the room until they landed on Mark. He sneered and blocked the door.

"Too afraid of the dark?" Mark asked in a shaky voice.

"No, deciding whether to kill you here or bring you back to Whyte." He lingered long enough for Mark to inhale and jumped in with his breath, already squiggling down his throat.

Mark pulled the detonator from his pocket and dropped, or fell while gasping, under some of the shelves. He hit the button and the C4 exploded in the pantry and the room, blasting the ceilings and shelves apart. Blocks of stone crushed what remained of the middle shelves and mud and water rushed in, pounding his face like a waterfall.

Lionel swore and leapt out of Mark's throat, cursing the boy at the top of his lungs. "You idiot! What did you do?" But Mark barely heard him over the deafening roar of the lake emptying its bowels into the room. Already the water was knee high in the pantry and more gushed through the holes, with no end in sight.

Rolling over the destroyed shelves and pushing against the rollicking water with all his might, Mark crawled and scrambled for the door, dragging himself out of the pantry. He was almost carried away with the water, but he latched onto one of the filing cabinets and used it as a crutch to break through the current. In the pantry, Lionel's legs had been lost to the waves, dissolving into the surface of the water. The rest of him huddled near the ceiling, moving with great difficulty around the inpouring tide.

A mercenary opened the door, caught sight of the situation, and shouted, "Close the emergency door!" He and a few others promptly rushed up the sloping hall. Mark focused on the open door. He had to reach it before Lionel, and before the water rose too high. He waded through the waves, holding to the wall as much as he could, but the water was waist high and it was like walking through molasses. A desk floated nearby, with a computer monitor still perched atop. Mark leapt out for it, his head submerging for a moment, but his fingers grabbed the wood. He climbed aboard and kicked the monitor off.

"Mark!" As Lionel escaped the pantry, more of its roof caved in, and he just cleared the water. The new downpour robbed him of a forearm and hand, now wet ash, which drifted away like everything else caught in the tide.

The desk smashed into the wall, and Mark kicked hard off of it and to the open door, sailing through it. Ahead, at the bottom of the sloping hall, a large metal door lowered from the ceiling. Lionel kept coming for him, although dropping down with every surge forward, like he was crawling in midair. He snatched at the desk, and his fingers brushed the water, melting the tips. They tried to return to Lionel and reform but slid off once more.

Mark was a few feet out of the room when the metal emergency door shut with a boom!, sealing off the flooded room. He fished out a grenade, pulled the pin, and chucked it at the door. A geyser of water shot up, spraying him, but the explosion caused no damage to the door. He rolled off the desk, into the water, and swam to the emergency door, searching for a way to open it. Nothing. He scraped at the bottom, jamming the tips of his fingers under it, pulling hard, and hoping against hope. It didn't budge.

He was caught in his own trap and would die down here. He hovered in the water, wishing he had stolen more C4. Then he could blow a hole in—

Hole. He turned to the hole in the room's roof. The water had almost filled the room and pantry to the top. Which meant the water would even out and be calm soon. He kicked his feet and swam into the room. The current was weaker and he could move easily. He headed for the surface to take a last, large breath.

A black shape appeared in front of him. Lionel. Mark screamed as his hand swatted the boy's nose. But as quickly as he came, Lionel faded into the water and scattered apart. Whether dead or not, Mark didn't wait around to find out. He had inhaled some water and his lungs burned for air.

By the time he got to the surface, he had only a second for air before the water filled the room completely. He sucked in a quick gulp, not nearly enough, but made for the exploded hole, squeezed through, and swam upward. The separation between the base and Lake Superior was short enough, but the distance to the lake's surface was longer. He was farther above the very bottom of the lake, near the shoreline, yet it was still a good distance. He could see the sun shining through the water and prayed he could make it.

His chest ached and he was tempted to breathe, but he pushed down that feeling and kept putting one hand in front of the other, kicking his legs. Left, right, left, right.

He closed his eyes, pretending he was almost there. He could make it, he could make it.

His vision dimmed. A tunnel closed in around him. Black shadows moved about here and there, and his lungs screamed for air.

Mark broke through the surface.

And stared directly into a hovering helicopter.

Besides the missiles primed to fire on him, Oliver, Emerl, and Whyte stood on the landing skids, ducking their heads beneath the rotating blades. Oliver had his fingers poised on his sunglasses, lifting them an inch as a warning. At the edge of the lake, mercenaries lined the shore, armed and aiming at him.

Mark didn't have the strength to make a fast getaway underwater, and he couldn't reach his last grenade fast enough, so he raised his hands in surrender, coughing and hacking up water. The helicopter moved closer, and Oliver and Emerl hauled him onto the floor of the helicopter.

"Lionel?" Whyte asked Emeryl. The mercenary peered over the edge a moment, then shook his head. Whyte's face twisted with malice and he directed it at Mark while Oliver whistled "Smoke on the Water." "Shut up," Whyte said, and to Mark's surprise, Oliver buttoned his lips.

The helicopter took off and brought them back to base. Not a word was spoken until they landed. Mark sat on the floor, shivering, dripping wet, and gulping down air.

Once inside the base, Whyte held Mark tight by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him to the laboratory. He threw him against the glass case, where a ball of burnt bone and charred skin that used to be a cat simmered. "I asked for three things," he said. "Three things. Do you remember what they were? Loyalty, which you've betrayed; competence, which you've proved you lack; and honesty."

Whyte bashed Mark's face into the glass until all he could see was the cat remains. "I was this close to having an unstoppable force. Now, I'm left with a fatal flaw and a dead cat, one I've had for years. But no, that wasn't good enough for you, was it?" He smushed Mark harder into the glass until he couldn't see anything. Then he threw him into the glass, caught him, and smacked him to the ground. "You had to kill one of my people, too!"

Mark coughed and sat up. "Why do you care? He was one psycho. You got a lot more," he said, sneering. "Kind of redundant if you ask me."

Whyte raised his hand, but Emeryl stopped him, slapping his radio into his palm. "We got a problem," he said.

Taking the radio and ordering two mercenaries to watch Mark, Whyte stepped outside with Oliver and Emeryl. From the window, Mark saw the three men hovering around the radio. All appeared deep in thought, with Whyte grinding his teeth. He did make out Whyte asking, "How long?" to the radio and being unsatisfied with the answer.

They returned shortly afterward. "We're leaving right now," Whyte told the mercenaries. "Grab as much of the formula as you can and load up. We don't have any time to waste."

"What about Lydia?" Emeryl asked.

"Leave her. She's no use to us anymore."

He jerked his head to Mark. "And him?"

Whyte looked beyond Mark at the glass case and a sick smile spread across his lips. "Put him in there."

All five men grabbed Mark, each to a limb or his head, and carried him to the case. Mark kicked and jerked at them, but they threw him high over the edge and into the case. Catching onto the edge with his fingertips, Mark tried to climb back up, but Oliver shot a jet of fire at him. He released, falling onto the cat's remains, and rolled off the sticky, crumbling mess. He jumped for the top, but his fingers barely grazed it. He bashed his shoulder into the wall, but it held firm.

"Turn it on," Whyte said.

As Emeryl flipped the switch to start the flames, the tubes hummed and immediately sputtered and shut down. "Explosion must've knocked out something," he said, shrugging.

"Then who has a grenade?" The mercenaries checked their equipment but were fresh out. "Perfect. And Yonkers already put away the ladder somewhere." He looked around the room for something high to stand on and found nothing.

"If you need a grenade," Mark said, taking out his and slipping a finger in the pin, "you can have mine."

The mercenaries raised their guns. "Cute. Except we can move out of the way. And what will that do for you? Hm?" Whyte asked. "You could try to blow that case up, but as we've already seen, that might not end well for you, would it? What if you miss and the grenade falls back in there with you?" He sucked on his teeth. "Bad way, going to pieces." Oliver laughed and raised his hand for a high-five, which he never received. "Even if you got out, Oliver could cook you alive." Mark fumed at his logic and let go of the pin. This case was all that kept him from being brutally murdered. He couldn't risk it.

"Too bad Lionel isn't here," Oliver said, almost wistfully. "He would love to do this." He resumed whistling "Smoke on the Water."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Mark slumped down. He was safe for now.

Whyte stopped in the midst of an eye roll and raised a finger. "No, fire is too quick for you anyway. I want something slower. Something that will drag out. Open the emergency door and let the water in," he told Emeryl, and then leered at Mark. "It'll help take care of everything."

"I can go grab a grenade," Emeryl said.

"No, I'd prefer this," he said. "Hurry and open it. Grab everything and let's go. Have a detachment stay behind to destroy whatever we can't take with us. Then have them cave in the front door and follow the rest of us. The water will finish the job."

"Yes, sir," Emeryl said.

Whyte turned to Mark and waved. "Say hello to Heather and Frieda for me." They left Mark alone, and he almost wished they had set fire to him. That would be quick. That he had prepared for. But not this. He rammed the glass wall again and again, hoping to loosen it. He thought he heard splashing water outside already. He hit harder, harder. Thoom. Thoom. He couldn't die, not like this.

The lights went out, making him jump, and trampling footsteps echoed down the hall. There was moving furniture, gunfire, and several explosions, which rumbled the case. This couldn't be the end. Fear squeezed his heart in its clenched fingers, and he kept banging on the glass to stave off the prickling tears and from hyperventilation taking over. He wanted Heather, his mom, anyone. Anyone to give him a way out. "Help! Help!"

Nobody was coming back for him. No one was coming to save him.

###

Thank you very much for purchasing and reading my first sequel. I greatly appreciate your support and time you have given to this trilogy and ask that you please take a brief moment to leave a review at your favorite retailer.

Thank you once again,

Dustin Martin

Other Books by Dustin Martin

Halfway Heroes Trilogy

Halfway Heroes

About Dustin Martin

Dustin Martin is a lover of science fiction and fantasy, as his writing usually reflects, and loves all kinds of plots, from grand adventures to character-driven stories. He draws much inspiration from authors in these same fields and his Christian faith.

Dustin holds an English Major in Technical Writing and works at a software company that provides products to higher learning institutions. When he isn't writing or daydreaming new stories, Dustin is often listening to music, playing games, or enjoying a book.

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