He nodded amiably as everyone breathed out in relief. The guards behind Strauss seemed very grateful to be lowering their weapons. Andreyev crossed to Moira, took her hand in his and kissed it. “Dr. Crue, I should be honored to invest in your technology. I think you will find I can be a very resourceful supporter.”
Moira actually blushed. “Constantin, I . . . I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Moira. You must thank your bold and persuasive young impostor,” he said, ignoring Strauss and shifting his gaze to Sophie. His back was now to Strauss, as if he’d dismissed her already. “Miss Crue. My regards.” He gave her a small, stiff bow—and then it was Sophie who was blushing.
Jim gave a soft, impatient grunt, and Andreyev’s eyes flickered his way.
“Not to be rude,” Jim said, “but now that we’re all sorted out, I wondered if we might discuss the issue of my plane? Now, the way I see it—and the way my insurance company might see it—someone here is responsible for it being blown up. So I was just wondering if—”
Sophie elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Jim. This isn’t the time.”
“What? All I’m saying is—”
“If you want to talk to the person responsible for your stupid plane,” said a voice behind them, “perhaps you’d like to talk to me?”
They all turned to see Nicholas leaning the doorway, absently tapping a device against his leg. In his other hand was a sleek black pistol. “Or perhaps you’d like to talk about the bomb I have planted inside.”
THIRTY SIX SOPHIE
“Nicholas . . . What is this?” Moira was white as a ghost, but she stepped forward and faced him.
“Good God, Moira, he doesn’t have a bomb,” Strauss said, approaching.
“If you really believe that,” said Nicholas, “why don’t you tell them to shoot me now?” He wiggled his eyebrows at the guards and gave them a Cheshire grin.
“Nicholas.” Moira’s tone could turn grapes into wine. He stopped taunting the guards and turned to her. “What is this about? What do you want?”
“Finally,” he said, with an exaggerated groan. “Someone who speaks reason. I want the helicopter,” he pointed at the Corpus chopper sitting across the bluff. “I want a pilot to fly it—Lux will do. And lastly, I want Sophie.”
“And what if I call your bluff?” Moira asked.
Sophie was only half listening. Her mind raced up and down the corridors of the past twenty-four hours, collecting stray bits of information like a trail of breadcrumbs. I know every corner of this island, down to the forgotten rooms and the spaces inside the walls themselves, he had boasted to her. He’d said that he’d lost his bomb when he used it on Jim’s plane, as if he didn’t have any others . . . but then what was it he’d added? Well. I can always come up with something. He wanted to destroy the Vitro building, one way or another. Escaping wasn’t enough for him, oh, no—he had to have it alclass="underline" Sophie, his freedom, and his revenge on Corpus.
“He’s not bluffing,” she found herself saying.
Everyone turned to stare at her as she went on. “You sabotaged the gas lines. That’s what this was all about, from the very beginning. You woke the Vitros and sent them to the cliff; you knew the Vitros would distract everyone but Moira, who would come to investigate. I was just there to distract Moira while you sabotaged the gas chamber equipment inside the walls, because you knew Strauss would shortly use it to try to kill the Vitros you’d also sabotaged. He has a bomb,” she said, turning to Moira. “The entire building is his bomb, thanks to Strauss.”
Nicholas’s smile could melt an iceberg. He gave her a mocking bow. “Brilliant, Sophie Crue. You truly are your mother’s daughter. Oh, wait . . .” He straightened and gave a sardonic frown. “No, you’re not.”
The only thing stopping her from slapping the false pity off his face was the detonator and the gun in his hands.
“I imagine the control you’re holding sets off a spark somewhere in the basement, to ignite the hydrogen cyanide,” said Moira carefully, as if the wrong word might somehow ignite the gas on its own.
“It was so easy. There are tanks of the stuff down there. It’s like you wanted to blow this place up from the beginning. You have to admit—it’s so brilliantly simple that it’s simply brilliant.” He beamed at her, as if he expected applause.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Moira said. “We are not your enemies, Nicholas. We’re your family.”
“I don’t have a family and I don’t want one.”
“We raised you, taught you.” She held out a hand, her eyes sorrowful. “Loved you.”
“Your sentiment may ensnare the likes of her,” he said, flicking a scornful look Sophie’s way, “but I’m smarter than that. You try to build cages out of a false sense of obligation and affection—flimsy materials, Doctor. If you really wanted to control me, you should have built a cage of steel. I’ve been your pet for too long. But no more.” He held up the detonator above his head. “I hold the keys now.”
“Oh, good God,” said Strauss. “You little bastard. You’re nothing, do you hear me? You’re a laboratory failure, a pet I let Moira keep simply because you were too pathetic to kill. Do you want to know why I let you live all those years ago when we discovered what you were? What Moira had made of you? I let you live because you’re not a threat. Not to anyone. You’re not even half as smart as you think you are, and you’re delusional and dramatic and stupid if you think I’m going to let you just prance off into the sunset. You think you’re special? Tell him, Moira. Tell him about Isaiah.”
“I . . .” Moira shut her eyes. “Oh, Nicholas.”
His mask of triumph slipped just slightly as his gaze honed in on Moira. “Isaiah?”
“Your Control, Nicky.”
Laughing, Nicholas waved the detonator, making them all flinch. “I don’t have a Control! Sophie is the only one!”
“His name is Isaiah Cartwright,” said Strauss, “and he lives in Wyoming on a ranch with his adoptive family. He is not a psychopath, but a decorated rodeo rider. Am I right, Moira?”
“Shut up!” Nicholas swung the gun toward Strauss, who stared him down.
Opening her eyes, Moira looked sadly at Nicholas. “She’s telling you the truth, Nicky.”
“No, she’s not—she’s lying! You all are! You always have!” he screamed. Spit sprayed from his mouth. “Stop it!”
“He has two parents and a sister who love him dearly,” Strauss went on, pouring acid on the wound she’d opened. “He has friends. He goes to school. He’s normal, Nicky, and he has a real life. He’s a real boy. Not like you—you are nothing. You’re just . . . just a shade, a shadow of what he is. You’ll never know what he’s known. You’re not a threat. You’re an echo of someone else.”
If this was Strauss’s method of calming Nicholas down, then Sophie was extremely unimpressed by her approach. Nicholas howled, his face going deathly white. His cheeks turned to pockets of shadow as he sucked in a breath. “I’m not a threat? I could blow you to hell with a flick of my thumb!”
“And kill yourself in the process? Ha! Look at where you’re standing! You are much too fond of yourself to do that.”
“I would,” he said. “Even if it was the last thing I ever did, it would be worth it, the revenge. The knowledge that I’d be dragging you into hell with me!”
“You lying son of a—”
“I’ll do it!” He raised the detonator. “Say one more word, and I swear I will.”
Strauss studied him, her eyes thin slits. Then she turned to one of the guards. “Give him the chopper keys. Okay, Nicholas, you win.”