MirrorWorld

Allenby picks up and shoves the oscillium armor at me. “We can’t let them take you. It’s time to be Crazy.”

45

The plan is simple. Allenby, a trusted higher-up at Neuro, will claim I’ve left, and she’ll request an audience, via phone or video, with Lyons. Winters, whose oversight of Neuro gives her authority separate from Lyons, will vouch for her. If granted, she can try to talk him out of whatever endgame he’s working toward, or at least glean some intel, which could help my rescue effort. If we can’t do that, Allenby thinks Lyons might have the sleeping-giant comparison backward, that he might instigate the end of humanity at the hands of the Dread. I’m not convinced, and until Maya is safe, I’m not taking sides.

Some of what I remember about Lyons isn’t encouraging. On the surface, he’s a good grandfather and devoted father. He’s also a tortured soul, deeply feeling the frightening events of his youth, when the Dread visited him at night, nightmares made real. He didn’t talk about those dark times often, not that I can remember yet, anyway, but when he did … The emotional scars are deep. But there is another side to the man, kept from plain sight, that is emerging in my memory. After his time with the Dread, before the CIA, he saw war as a young man. In Korea. I now remember a conversation with him, during which he reminisced about the firefights, the confusion and sound and adrenaline of battle. He waxed about battle the way an ex — football star fondly remembers game-winning plays. While he’s been content to research his lifelong enemy, collect war trophies from around the world, and oversee his own private army, perhaps the events of the past two weeks have freed him to relive his glory days, if only vicariously through Dread Squad? Has Maya’s abduction pushed him over the edge and thrust him to wage war he can’t win?

He might even view himself as some kind of noble hero, a modern-day George Washington, crossing the rift between worlds to free humanity from the Dread tyranny. It’s not even that much of a stretch if he could pull it off. But Allenby thinks he’s more likely to doom us all. She might be right, but if the Dread could wipe us out, why haven’t they done it already? That alone says a conventional victory might be possible.

My part of the current plan is simple. Hide and wait. Cobb and Blair have transportation ready and waiting. Once Allenby is away, I’ll be off to New Orleans with Winters and whatever help she’s summoned. Like I said, simple.

“Don’t move,” a man shouts. I can’t see him from my hiding place behind a weapons counter, but I can see Winters and Allenby. And I don’t like what I’m seeing. The looks on their faces, along with their suddenly raised hands, tells me two things. They don’t know these men, and they’ve got guns pointed at them.

My heart starts pumping hard. I can hear the rushing blood behind my ears. My vision narrows. Muscles tense. Even if nothing happens, I’m going to need a little time to recover from the adrenaline dump.

“I’m Dr. Allenby, and I would like to—”

“Don’t care who you say you are, so shut it.” The gruff man’s voice carries an unsaid threat. His next words are spoken into the hallway beyond him. “Are they on the list?”

“Both of you know me,” Winters says, glaring at them. “Lower your weapons, now, or—”

“Yeah, they’re on the list,” someone else replies. A hand slips into view, holding a small tablet. I can barely make out a photo of Allenby on the screen. The man holding the tablet swipes his thumb a few times. I see Cobb’s photo, and mine, and then Winters’s.

Winters clenches her fists. “Listen, you two—”

“ID confirmed,” the man says, pulling back the tablet. Winters takes a step forward, violent intent barely contained. She’s stopped by the muzzle of a gun, leveled at my aunt’s chest. “Stay where you are.”

“Why are you here?” Allenby asks, still defiant.

In reply, the man taps his finger on the touch screen and turns the device around. It’s a video of Lyons. He’s in a hangar. Men rush back and forth behind him. He leans in close, face slick with sweat, eyes unfocused, but angry. He doesn’t look well. “Josef, Kelly, and anyone who happens to be aiding your unsanctioned endeavor, I am aware of your efforts to restore Josef’s memory, and I’m afraid I cannot allow you to continue. Your actions and plans are tantamount to treason. And in times of war, such as this, the only acceptable response to this crime is of the harsh sort.”

What? My mind reels. This man is my father-in-law. We worked together. What he’s saying doesn’t fit with what I know of the man. But that’s still an incomplete picture. What are we missing?