MirrorWorld

“His war has finally begun,” Winters says. “I knew he was preparing for the worst, but I didn’t know he was actually ready to strike. While I’m sure he has support from people above my pay grade, this is war, and I doubt he has the president’s stamp of approval. This was all supposed to be a process. Build evidence. A game plan. Present it all to the president and let him decide.”

“I think that this was the plan all along,” I say. “Something started two weeks ago. It’s why he brought me back. I was going to be his Enola Gay.” My eyes widen. “I was going to deliver a bomb.”

“What bomb?” Winters asks.

I shrug. “I have no idea, but I was his delivery system.” I turn to Allenby. “He’s found someone else to do it.”

This is something he’s been working on for a long time at that second location, and if the World War Two analogy is accurate, I don’t think Maya will survive it … if she’s alive. Whether or not Lyons’s actions are impulsive, misguided, or on target and justified, Maya’s life is at risk. “What’s the plan?” I ask, strengthened by my increasing resolve.

“Maya’s embedded tracker is transmitting. You’re going after her,” she says. “You’re the only one who can. I’m going to let the Dread Squad take me in so I can have a chat with your father-in-law. See if I can’t talk him back from the brink. There has to be another way to do this, or at least do it with the full support of the U.S. military.”

I nearly point out that the U.S. military might be compromised already, that under Dread influence they might be more likely to shoot each other or us. This is probably the same conclusion Lyons has come to. If so, he can tell Allenby himself. Let them debate strategy and protocol. I’m going after Maya.

I notice a slight tremor in Allenby’s hands. It started when she mentioned Dread Squad. “You seem a little nervous. You don’t think Katzman will—”

“I don’t think it will be Katzman,” she says, “or anyone else we might know. Dread Squad isn’t just the handful of men you saw here.” She stops in front of an armory door. “There are hundreds of them.”

“Three hundred thirty-three,” Winters says. “I helped vet them. They were supposed to be a defensive force, like the Secret Service, protecting VIPs from Dread influence, but I think they’ve been trained for something else.”

“They’re not your problem.” Allenby enters the armory.

The armory has been picked over, but an array of familiar clothing and weapons has been laid out for me. I pick up the machete and whisper, “Faithful.”

Winters looks at me like I just passed gas. “Excuse me?”

“The best weapons have names,” I say, speaking as old Josef, who I now recall had a habit of naming prized weaponry, and apparently still does. I hold the machete up. “This is Faithful.” Which makes it better than me, I think, but keep to myself. I turn to Allenby. “You said Maya’s tracker signal popped back up. Is she nearby?”

Allenby frowns. “Louisiana. New Orleans. Hope you’re not afraid of flying now. Lyons sent a team in that direction an hour ago, so they’ve got a head start.”

“You said Lyons didn’t think Maya was alive,” I point out.

“It’s not a rescue mission. It’s an assault.”

“If they’re already in the air, how are we going to catch up?”

“I’ve made arrangements,” Winters says. “Lyons might have vast resources, including planes, but Neuro is just a small cog in the larger machine that I have access to. We’ll get there first, if we leave now.”

“This might be a stupid question,” I say, “but why don’t we have a couple of F-22s force them to land?”

“Lyons has a lot of friends,” Winters says. “In Washington and the military. He’s probably got F-22s escorting him. Our best play is to beat him there, get Maya to safety, and see if her survival takes the wind out of his sails.”

I appreciate that Winters and Allenby think there is an alternative to the coming violence, but I’m not convinced. Not by a long shot. Conflicts like this are ended by violence, an opinion that is, thus far, supported by my returning memory. If I’m able to get Maya clear, I might even give Lyons my blessing. I have no love for the Dread, and he’s the only one capable of responding to the threat. Allenby seems to think I’ve been cut out of the loop because a fearful Crazy wouldn’t approve of war — of fighting the Dread. But the opposite is true. By taking Maya, they’ve rekindled my hatred for them. I appreciate Allenby’s position, but Maya is my only concern. Not only did she love me, unconditionally, but she also made me feel more … human. I lived in darkness so vast that I was able to see the Dread, not with my eyes, but with my heart. I recognized the effect they had on people because it was the same effect my presence so often elicited. Maya freed me from that, and now I’m going to free her from it.

Voices, firm and professional, slide into the room from the hallway beyond. Commands and confirmations. Dread Squad. They’re already here.