Margolin wasn't expecting Bartolli to cower; the man simply wasn't made that way. But he also wasn't expecting what Bartolli said next.
"Understood, sir. Just remember that while success has a thousand fathers, failure is always an orphan. “
Margolin glowered. "What's that supposed to mean? “
Bartolli's dark, predatory eyes took on the businesslike aspect of an undertaker measuring a still-living prospective client for a pine box. "I'm just pointing out that the director will no doubt reward you handsomely if our alien-capture ops all go as per plan. But if they don't, your corner office just might be getting a new tenant soon. “
With that, Bartolli turned and followed the prisoners and their guards to the forward hatch. He hadn't bothered to wait for either a reply or a dismissal.
Alone inside the jet, Margolin shivered involuntarily, as though someone had just stepped on his grave.
Ever since he had awakened on board the jet and discovered that he'd been both drugged and handcuffed, Rath had been thinking as rapidly as his fogged mind would allow.
He considered how oddly rested he felt after the long cross-country flight. If not for all the drugs in his system, he felt he'd be ready to take on the world.
Rath also thought about Zan's healing powers, and about how he'd tried to develop similar abilities of his own. As Zan's military adviser back on Antar, Rath had understood well the value of battlefield medicine. Unfortunately, he'd never attained anything like Zan's proficiency at direct wound-healing; Rath had concluded that this was a talent that required a fundamentally nobler worldview than he possessed.
But Rath had gotten pretty good at neutralizing infectious bioweapons, battlefield toxins, and poisons.
And narcotics.
Rath concentrated first on ordering and focusing his thoughts, at least as much as the junk in his bloodstream would allow. It was difficult at first, like trying to start a fire with nothing more than a pair of wet sticks. But somewhere at the center of his mind, his powers began to spark and smolder. The toxins in his blood responded by clumping together like a multivehicle crash on the highway, stopping and thereby rendering themselves harmless. As his faculties gradually returned, the process accelerated.
He knew that the hard part would be hiding his renewed strength from his captors.
"Move it," said the hard-faced agent who stood almost nose to nose with him shortly after the jet had landed.
Standing in the aisle with Ava ahead of him and Lonnie behind… all of them surrounded by a half-dozen armed MiBs… Rath slowly moved toward the jetway. It took a real effort not to smile as he descended the stairs behind Ava, grabbing the railing to make himself appear weaker than he truly was.
Less than a minute later he stood on the tarmac, watching as several agents pushed a disoriented-looking Ava toward the armored vehicle that awaited them. They had to holster their weapons momentarily as they did so, leaving only three guns trained on both Rath and Lonnie.
The odds were as good as they were ever going to get.
Rath concentrated intensely for a moment, and his wrists glowed like shooting stars. His handcuffs dropped away as he spun toward the agents, raised his hands, and let fly with several tightly focused energy blasts.
As Michael drove the Microbus back toward the hotel where they had left their belongings, Liz looked over at Max. Something was definitely wrong. But he didn't want to talk about it, so she wasn't going to press the issue. Yet.
"So our pictures are on the news then?" Michael asked.
"Just the three of us guys," Kyle said. "They weren't very good shots, though. Looked like they were taken from a security camera at the clothing store or something. It would be hard for anyone to identify us from them. “
"I don't get it," Maria said. "If they want the word out about us, why don't they just release the pictures they have of us from Roswell? “
"What if they don't want word out about us?" Liz asked. "I mean, the Special Unit doesn't seem to want its agenda known to the public. Think how ridiculous they'd sound if they told your average American, 'Aliens are living among you, and they're teenagers.' So, what do they have to gain by releasing information about us? “
Michael nodded, a slight grin on his face as he looked back at them. "Liz has a point. They don't have any reason to expose us. But the media and the local cops don't know that. So maybe these reports came from them. After all, what happened in the mall was pretty public. It's not like it would be easy to cover that up. Even for Special Unit spooks. “
Liz nodded. "It would explain why the news pictures looked like security-camera screen captures instead of photos. “
"We haven't heard enough of the news yet to see if anybody's talking about your astounding displays of power," Maria added. Then, to Michael, she said, "Hey, Spaceboy, eyes on the road. We don't need to get pulled over right now.
"Jesse didn't mention anything about people discussing our powers," Isabel said. "According to him, the news was pretty vague about the details. “
Liz looked over at Max. He was still brooding. Not that brooding was anything new for him, but he seemed to have gone even deeper into the darkness than usual.
"Maybe we can find out more at the hotel," Kyle said. "At least we can watch TV while we pack. “
"No," Max said clearly, speaking for the first time since the hospital parking lot. "We get in, get our stuff, and get gone. No time for showers or TV or snacks. “
"If we even can get our stuff," Isabel said from the front passenger seat. "We don't know that they aren't waiting there for us. “
"No, but we're going to find out pretty soon," Michael said. "I'm parking behind the restaurant up here. The hotel is on the other side of the block. If they're watching for us, we'll stand a better chance of ditching them on foot. “
As Michael parked the van, Isabel said, "I'm staying here. I've got an idea that might help us. And get us more information. “
"What's that?" Max asked.
Isabel grinned and held up the I.D. badges and wallets of the government agents who had tasered them in the corridors. "I'm going dreamwalking. “
Agent Frank Kaneko had returned to his duplex that evening dog-tired. His wife already knew he was physically all right; following the altercation he had faced at the mall that afternoon, he had called her to allay any fears she might have if she'd heard the news. He made his best effort to assure her he was emotionally all right, as well as physically four-square.
But he wasn't.
Something about the operation today didn't smell right. From the time his squad had received their orders to scramble to the moment he'd picked himself up off the floor in the back corridor of the mall, unease had sat heavily in the pit of his stomach.
Afterward, he and the other agents there had been debriefed and were ordered not to discuss the matter with anyone, even one another. He was certain they all had questions, and it would just be a matter of time before one of them brought the subject up with a colleague. But right now, it was best to keep one's mouth shut. There were some other kind of spooks involved… he didn't know if they were Bureau, CIA, special ops, or something else… and even with only five years on the job, Kaneko knew better than to mess with mysteries.
But the situation refused to leave his mind. He had been among the group approaching from the side when the muscular young man had exited the internet cafe and pushed a heavy concrete garbage can at them, scattering most of them like tenpins. Kaneko hadn't lost his footing, though he'd been momentarily startled to see the windows of the Internet place clouding over darkly, as if by an invis- ible can of spray paint.