He did a quick pat down, searching Eve’s pockets for useful gear or anything she might be able to use as a weapon if she got free. The magazines held only blanks but he removed them from their pouches and tossed them aside, along with the grenades which were almost certainly duds but had enough heft to be dangerous if thrown or used as a bludgeon. There was a capped syringe in one of her pockets, probably containing a dose of the tranquilizer the Changelings were so fond of using. He slipped it into his own pocket and then moved over to check on the commando. The man was truly dead this time; there was no way to fake a crushed skull. Professor did not bother with the phony combat load, but searched the man’s pockets for anything that might shed light on his identity. There was nothing, save for another syringe which Professor added to his inventory.
Eve was semi-conscious, staring at him through heavily lidded eyes, but she neither moved nor spoke as he scooped her into his arms and then heaved her onto one of his shoulders. The effects of the narcotic seemed to be easing, which meant that either it was nearly out of his system or his body was developing a tolerance for it, but he moved cautiously, as wary of a relapse as he was running into more Changelings. As he approached the door however, he was filled with a new sense of urgency. Waves of heat were radiating off the door, and the smell of wood smoke was creeping into the cabin.
Eve’s accomplice had not been speaking figuratively when he had warned her that things were about to heat up. They’re burning it all down.
TWENTY-TWO
Professor pushed the door open, careful to avoid the blast of super-heated air that rushed in, and was met by a wall of fire. The entire north end of the camp was in flames, the orange radiance so bright that he was unsure whether it was day or night. The conflagration had already reached the row of cabins directly in front of him. Nevertheless, he edged out and skirted along the front of his cabin and rounded the corner. There were a few isolated fires to the south, but for the most part the route was clear. He surmised that the Changelings had set the fire as soon as the plane was in the air, or more probably, just before taking off. Eve’s accomplice hadn’t been exaggerating about the need to hurry.
He wondered if they had actually intended to put him on the aircraft at all. That seemed unlikely since it had not waited around, but it also meant that they had arranged some other means of escaping the fires, which had probably been set to erase all traces of the Changeling camp. Judging by the height of the towering flames, the fire was not merely consuming the ramshackle cabins, but also the forest beyond, and maybe even the town on the far side of the hill — a literal scorched earth retreat.
He quickened his step to a steady jog, running down the narrow alley between the cabins and away from the approaching firestorm, until he reached the southern edge of the camp. There, just fifty yards from where he emerged, he saw something that had not been there during his earlier explorations. A parked SUV.
With some distance between himself and the fire, he saw that it was nighttime, and while the orange glow of the flames provided more than enough light by which to see, the cabins cast nearly impenetrable shadows over the vehicle. He observed it for a few seconds to make sure there was no one lurking nearby and then crossed to it. It was unlocked and the key was in the ignition, so he dumped Eve into the passenger seat, checking to make sure that her bonds were still tight, then turned the key.
The headlights revealed a pattern of parallel grooves in the earth, the tire imprints from a small convoy of off-road vehicles, which converged into a trail that led away to the south. The tire tracks were fresh. Trace evidence of a recent evacuation. He followed the tracks, keeping the SUV moving at a crawl through the rough unfamiliar terrain.
He glanced over at Eve and was surprised to find her staring back at him with eyes full of hate. There was something that looked like a flap of skin — still streaked with camouflage paint — hanging from her face, and under it, another layer of smooth unmarked skin. He considered tearing away the latex simulacrum of Jade’s face to reveal Eve’s true countenance, but decided the unmasking could wait until they were in a more secure environment. Besides, the Changeling’s true face was the least of her secrets that he wanted to know.
“Feeling talkative yet?”
She continued glowering.
“That’s okay. I’ve figured some of this out for myself already. You know how you observe your targets, learning all the little details in order to create a perfect duplicate?” He laughed. “Well, maybe not perfect. But it’s a little like being an FBI profiler. Studying behavior, reading the clues, and putting it all together. While you were observing me, I was observing you. Here’s what I came up with.
“You’ve been at this for a while. Decades. Maybe longer.” He noticed a slight eye-twitch. Okay, definitely longer, he thought. I’ll come back to that. “You’re skilled at the art of illusion. Not just masks and imitating people, but creating elaborate scenarios to manipulate us. Like that fake rescue scene. You could have doped me up with truth serum and asked me anything, but instead you tried to con me into giving up the information. Playacting is like a compulsion for you. A pathological need.”
Eve maintained her stony silence. Professor looked away, allowing the accusation to sink in for a few seconds while he negotiated the narrow trail that wound through the trees.
“I guess it only makes sense. If you’ve got a particular talent or ability, naturally you’d see everything as a problem to be solved in those terms. Like that old saying, when you’re a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. That’s how I can tell that you aren’t working for a national intelligence service.”
She looked up suddenly, evincing surprise at the statement, and inadvertently confirming his statement.
Professor grinned. “A trained spy uses the best methods available to complete a mission. A confidence artist only knows how to run a scam. Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m going on about this. Here’s the thing. Spies are also trained in how to resist interrogation methods. And they know that, no matter how tough they are, if captured, they will eventually break. I’m telling you this so that you know what’s in store for you. You’ve probably heard about ‘enhanced interrogation’ techniques? Those are fun, though they aren’t much good against trained assets. You on the other hand…” He shook his head gravely.
Eve sneered. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I told you everything, you would not live long enough to share it. We are everywhere. We don’t work for some pitiful government agency. We are the governments. We are everywhere. You think we’ve been doing this for a few years? Try a few millennia. We’re everywhere. We’ve always been everywhere.”
Professor listened carefully to her rant and decided that she was telling the truth, or at least what she believed to be the truth, but he shook his head. “Nice try. I hope you can come up with something better than that when I’m pouring a gallon of water down your throat.”
She gave a disdainful snort and turned her head to avoid his gaze. “You wanted the truth. The truth is that there is not a soul on this earth you can trust.”
“Then indulge me. Answer my questions. Why take the plane? Why kill Roche? If you’re as powerful as all that, what difference does one crazy guy make?” When she did not respond, he asked one more question. “Why go after Jade?”
Even as he uttered the words, he realized that he had been looking at everything wrong. He thought back to the meeting with Roche, moments before his life had been snuffed out. He had asked the conspiracy theorist a similar question.