Barnes’ jaw tightened. “Swallow the pill, Martin.”
“Non-lethal missions,” Holtzmann said. “I read the file. What happened three months ago? What happened in Chicago?”
A muscle twitched in Barnes’ jaw. He leaned forward, used one monolayered finger to push the pill towards Holtzmann.
“You’ve lost control, haven’t you?” Holtzmann asked. “The fiction you’ve created has become real. Your pet terrorist group is biting at your hand now, isn’t it?”
Barnes stared at him, coldly, then leaned in close. “Take that fucking pill, Martin, or I’m going to shove it down your throat.”
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Holtzmann pushed back in his chair, his hand on his cane, propelled himself up and back, back, until he touched the window. He could feel the rain drumming against it, a high-pressure barrage of fat water droplets shaking the glass.
Holtzmann closed his eyes to see the bandwidth. It was up a notch higher here. Signal strength was just the tiniest bit better.
He opened his eyes and Barnes was standing in front of him, half a head taller. His hand was up before him, the green pill pinched between thumb and forefinger.
Holtzmann scooted to the side, away from Barnes, away from his death, towards the corner. Barnes followed him, grimly, the taller man’s eyes drilling into Holtzmann’s. Holtzmann closed his eyes in fear, not brave any more, not wanting this, not wanting to see his own death coming.
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Holtzmann’s eyes flew open.
Yes. Yes.
Barnes reached out for him and Holtzmann retreated further, into the corner, shuffling fast.
Barnes followed him and Holtzmann swung his cane at the man – swung it at his head!
Barnes snatched the cane in midair with his left hand, an annoyed look on his face. Then he yanked it out of Holtzmann’s hand, flung it across the room.
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“Is this how you killed Warren Becker?” Holtzmann demanded. “Is it?”
“Becker did what he was told,” Barnes replied. Then his left hand reached out, closed around Holtzmann’s jaw, and clenched, prying it open.
Holtzmann cried out, struggled, kicked at Barnes, beat at Barnes’ head with his hands. The man was so strong!
Then Barnes brought his other hand around, grabbed hold of Holtzmann’s upper jaw, and pulled his mouth open.
Holtzmann felt bitter powder land on his tongue as Barnes crushed the pill with his fingers. He tried to spit the powder out, but by then his mouth was shut, clamped shut by Barnes’ impossibly strong hands.
No! He struggled, refused to swallow. He got his hands on Barnes’ forearm, tried to pry the man off of him, strained with all his might.
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Nothing. Barnes was inhumanly strong.
He could feel the powder dissolving now, turning to mush on his tongue. Rivulets of a foul bitter taste were running down his throat.
No! God, no!
He stared at Barnes with eyes gone wild, found the man staring back at him, a look of grim satisfaction on his face, a fervor in the eyes, a small smile on his lips. A monster. This man was a monster.
More of the bitter fluid leaked into his throat.
Holtzmann stopped struggling then. He let himself go limp in submission. It was too late.
Barnes let him go and Holtzmann slumped bonelessly to the floor.
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He tried to spit, but there was nothing solid left in his mouth, just a thin greenness to his saliva. Barnes chuckled.
Holtzmann went Inside then. While he had the bandwidth. He piggybacked on the current connection, fired off a last message to his wife.
[I love you, Anne. I’ve always loved you. Please forgive me.]
Then he opened his eyes and looked up at Barnes.
“Why?” Holtzmann asked. “Why all this?”
Barnes stared at him for a moment, then answered. “Americans forget too quickly, Martin. Our lives are too easy. Fear is the only way to diligence.”
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Holtzmann shook his head. “But it’s a lie.” He could feel the drug working now, feel the pain in his chest, feel trembles taking hold in his arms.
Barnes shook his head in return. “It’s not a lie. It’s vigilance. It’s the price of freedom.”
A stabbing pain jabbed its way through Holtzmann’s chest. He gasped and folded his hands in. He was shaking now. His legs were twitching.
“People deserve to know…” he said weakly. “PLF is a lie… You created…”
Barnes stared coldly down at him.
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The real pain hit him then, impaling him with its intensity, forcing his whole body to arch and spasm. A giant took hold of his heart, started crushing it slowly in his fist. Its chambers gave up beating and simply clenched tight instead. Pain flooded him, rushed out from his chest and filled every inch of his body. He tried to scream but couldn’t breathe, couldn’t work his diaphragm to draw breath. His limbs spasmed, contorting of their own will. His vision went blurry, then dimmed. The world swam away from him as the blood flow to his brain ceased.
A booming crash came from outside as the storm blasted them with its fury. The last thing Martin Holtzmann saw was a blurry image of Maximilian Barnes standing above him, lit by a flash of lightning, with a single message overlaid atop him.
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And Martin Holtzmann smiled. Through the pain he grinned up at Barnes, grinned savagely, as death took him.
79
PRELUDE TO VIOLENCE
Saturday November 3rd
Breece sat in a booth in the small restaurant on K Street. He was in casual business attire, his hair and eye color changed, an extra forty pounds of false weight on his frame, temporary prosthetics changing the shape of his face. He watched on his slate as people filed in to Westwood Baptist. Security funneled the arrivals through checkpoints, scanned them for weapons, bombs, Nexus.
Inside the church, Miranda Shepherd was already beside her husband, just yards from the podium where he would stand and give his rousing speech exhorting Texans to elect Daniel Chandler, a true servant of the Lord, to the governorship.
The speech would be broadcast live to millions. And it would have a more… explosive conclusion than the audience might expect.
Breece smiled to himself.
9.32am.
Almost showtime.
Kade stared out at the sea and the darkening sky. The sun had set already, drowned in that endless ocean.
Was Shiva infiltrating minds already? Subverting them?
You paved the way, Ilya whispered in his thoughts.
“Yes,” Kade whispered aloud. “Yes, I did.”
He checked the time. In little more than an hour the PLF would use Nexus to kill again. Hundreds would die. Fault lines would be cracked even wider. Retributions and reprisals. More terror.
Su-Yong Shu had seen it. A war between human and transhuman. It was beginning. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Nakamura, Sam, and Feng reviewed the plan one more time. Here – Lane’s rooms. Here – the doors the children came in and out of, the wing they were housed in. There – the vehicles by the house. There – the airfield, the hangar, the plane that Sam could fly, that could get her and the children to the Indian-occupied Andaman Islands.