He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, trying to soothe his rising anger.
Relax.
When his breathing was under control, he opened his eyes and focused on the feed coming in from Lazarovich’s helmet. The Reeves boy had told her to take it off, and she had done exactly as he instructed. It was now on the ice. The bottom part of the screen was obscured by a dusting of snow, but the rest of it showed him the remaining Osprey. Right now, the rotors were spinning as it prepared to take off.
It was uncanny, the way the Reeves boy had commanded Lazarovich. It was as if he had hypnotized her. The Broker had seen everything that happened – the battle, the rip in the ice, the collapse of Outpost Zero, the appearance of… what? What had come out of the ice? Some kind of swarm?
Whatever it was, it had touched the boy. Changed him somehow. The Broker couldn’t think of any other reason why Lazarovich was so firmly under the boy’s control. And he’d also seen what happened to the girl. Lazarovich had shot her dead, but she wasn’t dead any more; not after those things had worked their magic.
Watching the images coming in from Lazarovich’s battle helmet, The Broker saw the Osprey rise from the ground and lift out of view. He listened to the sound of the engines and imagined the aircraft climbing, turning and moving away. He waited until everything was silent, and continued to watch the operatives kneeling in the ice.
None of them moved.
With a sigh, The Broker pulled his smartphone towards him and touched his thumb to the recognition pad. When it lit up, he tapped an icon in the shape of a phoenix.
The phone rang once before Phoenix answered. ‘Sir.’
‘I can assume you saw everything?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ve been trying to contact the team. I have direct comms, but there’s no reply. It’s like they’re zombies. What did that boy do to them?’
‘I don’t know, but I want to find out. I want to talk to him. Track that aircraft. Find out where it goes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And send someone to bring back Lazarovich. I can’t afford to see another one of my agents go rogue.’
‘Sir.’
The Broker didn’t wait for anything else. He cut off the call and stood up, allowing his fury to flare with a sharp, sudden explosion. It surged through him, uncontrollable and violent. He swatted the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug from the table beside him. There was a ting! when his wedding ring struck it, and the mug shot across the War Room. It slammed into the far wall and exploded into a hundred pieces.
Before the fragments of the mug hit the ground, The Broker grabbed the table from beside him, and launched it at the wall.
The table struck the centre screen with a loud crash! The screen dented in the middle, and a crack flared out in both directions, running diagonally from corner to corner. As soon as the table dropped to the floor, The Broker surged forward, kicking it out of his way. He grabbed the screen with both hands, and with one powerful wrench he tore it from the wall. He lifted it over his head and brought it down hard on the floor, over and over again until the screen came apart, components spilling out and scattering across the floor. He threw the carcass aside and grabbed another screen, about to rip it from the wall and—
Knock knock.
A gentle tap at the door.
The Broker stopped.
Knock knock. ‘Everything all right, Dad?’ A voice outside. His son.
Still holding the screen, The Broker turned to look at the door. ‘Yes, David, everything’s fine. I dropped my mug. Sorry – it’s the one you gave me for my birthday.’
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Well, anyway, Mum says there’s coffee and cake if you want it.’
‘I’ll be there in a second.’ The Broker cleared his throat and let go of the screen. He dusted himself off and straightened his hair, taking a moment to calm himself before going to the door.
When he left the War Room, his son David was waiting outside.
‘You sure everything’s all right?’ David leant to one side, trying to look into the room.
‘Fine.’ The Broker closed the door. There was a click as it locked.
‘It’s just… I thought I heard—’
‘Everything’s good.’ The Broker ruffled his son’s hair and smiled. ‘Sorry about the mug.’
‘It’s all right,’ David said. ‘We’ll get you another one.’
‘That would be great.’ The Broker put his arm around his son as they strolled through the house to join the rest of the family. ‘So,’ he asked. ‘What kind of cake are we having?’
38
WEST ALLEN SCHOOL
2 WEEKS AFTER THE INCIDENT AT OUTPOST ZERO
Zak stared at the book on the table in front of him.
Jackson Jones and the Ghosts of the Antarctic.
It was the same book he had been trying to read on the plane to Outpost Zero. The same book he had been trying to read for the past two weeks, without any success. He’d only managed a few slow pages because he couldn’t concentrate on anything. The events at Outpost Zero hung over him like a dark cloud. They followed him wherever he went. The world wasn’t what he used to think it was. He had seen things that made him question everything. And there was something he couldn’t get out of his mind. The blonde woman with the ordinary face. When he dreamt at night, he didn’t dream about insect swarms, or nightmarish robots coming to life – he dreamt about her.
Zak put his hand inside his blazer and touched his right shoulder, feeling the bump of the gross scab that had formed there. He ran his fingers along it, remembering how the bullet had grazed him. A bit further to one side and it might have killed him.
Eliminate everyone, the woman had said, and every night Zak dreamt her saying those two words, speaking them without any feeling at all. Over and over he relived the moment when she had shot Sofia. And there was a name too. Phoenix. Zak wondered what it all meant. He had discussed it many times with May, and on FaceTime with Sofia, the three of them becoming close friends through their shared experience – but they hadn’t come to any conclusions. The only thing Zak was sure of was that life could never be the same for him. How could it? His doctors had looked inside his head and confirmed that he was as healthy as a twelve-year-old boy could be. Healthier, in fact. They couldn’t explain it, but there was no sign he had ever been ill. How strange was that? And there was the other thing. The way Zak could push his mind into someone else’s. The way he could make them do what he told them. Zak had been thinking about that a lot; about what he could do with it, how he could use it.
Of course, Mum and Dad had told him never to tell anyone about it. Never to use it. Never to make someone do something they didn’t want to do. That would be wrong.
But, despite everything, here he was back at school, sitting in the dining hall with his best friend, Krishna, pretending everything was the same as it had always been. Mum and Dad said it was important to get back into a routine, to be normal, but Zak didn’t even know what that meant any more.
‘You gonna finish that?’