Cafferty’s earpiece crackled. He strained to listen but couldn’t make out the faint voice behind the static. It was likely a technical fault or interference picked up from the prime minister’s security detail. Whatever the reason, he decided to stay focused on the present and on the meeting, which had taken a positive turn.
“We’ll lend our support to your mission and to your team,” Simpson said.
Ellen and Tom locked hands under the table. Both had sweaty palms. Both knew what was at stake. Outside, it was almost like the world had understood the importance of the decision, because as the prime minister had spoken in their support, shafts of sunlight broke through moody clouds and radiated down onto parts of the city. This was exactly what the team needed to achieve success.
“But there are certain conditions to this partnership,” the prime minister explained. “First, we’ll attach a liaison officer from the Secret Intelligence Service to your group. Everything between us remains top secret but also transparent.”
“Agreed,” Ellen said.
“Second, if things are exactly like you say, we’ll be taking over in the UK once we create our own weaponry to counter the threat.”
She nodded in agreement again. “Our aim is to share the technology we’ve acquired and everything we’ve learned about the Foundation, so you can defend yourselves.”
“Excellent. Then we have ourselves a deal.”
Relief washed away the months of stress. They had finally made solid progress. Once a G7 national government took the threat seriously and acted without the Foundation’s support or consent to actually fight the creatures, it was game over for Albert Van Ness. His monopoly would fall, and the world could turn its attention to eradicating the threat, instead of being cowed by it.
“So, tell me about this operation you’re planning,” the prime minister said.
The sound of the chopper’s rotors winding up interrupted him.
“You’re not leaving us already?” Ellen joked.
Simpson looked quizzically at one of his security detail. “We’re going to need more time here. Let the pilot know.”
The agent spoke into his cuff, twice, though he didn’t appear to be getting any response. He turned and headed out the double doors to the sunlit heliport.
The chopper’s rotor blades sliced through the air at an increasing speed and rapidly spun to a blur. It was primed to take off, that much was clear, but why?
Cafferty twisted in his chair to watch the agent approach the cockpit. An alarm went off in his head, though he told himself to stop being cynical about everything in the world that he couldn’t directly control. That was Van Ness territory.
The agent ducked as he jogged under the blades. The rotor wash flapped his jacket away from his body, and his tie snapped over his shoulder. He approached the pilot’s open window and hunched down.
“So, about your operation . . .” Simpson said.
Back outside, a red cloud exploded from the back of the agent’s head, immediately followed by the report of a gunshot. He lifelessly collapsed to the ground as if somebody had turned him off with a switch.
“What the h—” Cafferty gasped.
The shooting had paralyzed him. He watched openmouthed as the pilot switched his aim to the conference room.
The surviving agent grabbed Simpson and wrestled him to the ground.
Ellen grabbed Tom’s shoulder and they both dropped to the carpet. He tensed while he waited for the inevitable rounds to hiss through the air.
Five shots rang out in quick succession, each wince-inducing, each drilling through the conference room window and slamming into the opposite wall. The British agent clutched his chest and collapsed, dead, on top of the prime minister.
The chopper’s skids lifted off the heliport. Its nose dipped, its engine ground higher, and then it thumped away into the sky.
“Prime Minister,” Cafferty shouted, “are you hit?”
“I’m okay,” he said in a quivering voice. “I’m okay.”
Ellen and Tom helped each other to their feet, then approached the prime minister, lifting the agent’s dead body off him.
Shaken, Simpson took rapid shallow breaths. “Van Ness,” he muttered.
Silence filled the meeting room for a moment, until the conference phone at the center of the table burst to life. Its crisp electronic rings reverberated around the room.
“Don’t answer,” Simpson blurted out. “We need a way out of here.”
“He’s isolated us,” Cafferty said. “I doubt his plan was to simply steal your chopper. Why did you change locations at the last minute?”
“I didn’t order the change. It came in from MI5 . . . No . . . surely the director isn’t in on this! He can’t be. Can he?”
“Yes, he can,” Ellen said firmly. “I’m guessing Van Ness won’t just let us walk out of here, so you need to get another helicopter here in minutes or we’ll have to face whatever’s coming. Trust me, with Van Ness, this won’t be pretty.”
The ringing stopped.
“We’ve got agents guarding all entrances,” Simpson said. He fished his phone from inside his jacket, then selected a contact. After three faint rings, somebody answered. “Home Secretary. I want a chopper sent immediately to the roof of the De Jong building. I’m facing an assassination attempt. Send it now!”
Bowcut slipped her gun into her concealed hip holster and grabbed a laser from the back of the van. Adrenaline coursed through her body. Whatever had battered the other van’s doors off its hinges and darted into the basement wasn’t human.
But exactly what, she had no idea. To her knowledge, the creatures weren’t capable of surviving at ground level, where the oxygen rendered the air toxic to them. It mattered little. All she could do was deal with the facts, and she was pretty sure the laser was going to be of more use than her pistol right now.
“Good luck,” Munoz said.
“Looks like the prime minister got off the roof safe. His chopper just lifted off.”
“It’s not him I’m worried about.”
“Keep trying to get in touch with Tom and Ellen.”
“Will do.”
She hid the laser inside of her denim jacket and strode toward the De Jong Group’s service entrance. It surprised her that no agents had guarded it, but from here she could see through the building’s reception area. A few British agents milled around the front entrance.
It had all the hallmarks of a Foundation operation. Just like in New York, it had gotten people on the inside to clear a path for the coming assault. This time, she was ready to strike back with equal—
A brilliant flash of light erupted from the building.
A shock wave knocked her off her feet, instantly followed by a fireball. Dense black smoke gushed out of the service entrance. Shards of masonry and broken glass peppered her body and sprayed over the street.
Pain seared down her left side.
White noise filled her ears.
Car alarms wailed.
She groaned to her hands and knees and peered through the smoke, attempting to register what had just happened. Her father and brother had died during 9/11, and thoughts of that day spun through her mind as she scrambled to gain any kind of self-command.
A cry came from somewhere else in the street, desperate and weak.
Bowcut tried to stand but sunk back to one knee. Her injuries didn’t feel severe. If anything, the blast had just stunned her. She checked the laser. A piece of shrapnel had split the casing. The weapon had saved her life, though it was now useless.
Munoz rushed through the haze and crouched by her side. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live.” She coughed, grimaced, grabbed her ribs. “Help me up.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she hobbled back to the van. Each painful step told her she wasn’t fit for anything. She could barely hear from the blast. Her left side felt like she had been hit by a car. By all accounts, she should lie down and rest for a day or two in a hospital.
But she knew the fight was just beginning.
Simpson had gone rigid when the building shook from the explosion. Cafferty felt the same, experiencing the internal dread he was sure the prime minister was going through. He struggled for breath, and his chest felt like it was about to explode. This had happened to him only once before—in the Visitors’ Pavilion, after the torn-apart train rolled into the station, his wife and the passengers nowhere to be found.
He wondered if the plan was to simply kill the prime minister, Ellen, and him in an inferno, or something else more sinister. Van Ness had a sick flair for the dramatic. He had orchestrated a plane crash in Poland to kill half the country’s administration on a flight back from Russia; there was no reason he’d resort to something as mundane as a bomb when the grandiose would sell the Foundation’s agenda more readily.
“We need to get out of this building,” Ellen said, and her voice helped him gain his composure. She was his rock in more ways than she knew.
“We’ve got a chopper coming in five minutes,” Simpson murmured. “Can we hold out that long?”
“I don’t know—”
The conference phone rang again.
“Goddamn it,” she said. She reached across and hit the speaker button.
“I’m glad you answered before the building lost power or disappeared entirely . . .” Van Ness’ voice said in an official tone.
“He’s gonna blow the building,” Cafferty whispered.
“You disappoint me, Mr. Prime Minister,” Van Ness said.
“What the hell do you want?” Simpson snapped back. “Do you think you’ll get away with this?”
“Oh, I will. I always do. In an hour, a terrorist group will claim responsibility. That is, assuming you don’t accept my final offer.”
Simpson leaned toward the phone, scowling. “Which is?”
“Simple: the British government will continue to pay my fees in exchange for keeping your country safe. I watched your meeting with the Caffertys. Their theories are fascinating, I must say.”
Cafferty edged closer to Ellen. He scanned the room but spotted no cameras or listening devices.
“Don’t bother looking, Mr. Mayor. Surveillance is a bit above your salary as a public servant.”
“And if I say no?” Simpson grunted, defiant.
“I can’t allow a state to go rogue. The stakes have never been higher between humanity and the creatures. One misstep could be fatal. So, if you say no, I’ll continue our deal . . . with your successor. I have one in mind.”
The audacity of what Van Ness was threatening shook Cafferty. It was one thing to experience the attempts on your life, but another to hear a man discuss murder so casually, like this was simply a business negotiation.
“One thing more, Prime Minister. The deal comes with one condition. A caveat, if you will.”
“Which is?” the prime minister asked.
“I’d like you to borrow your dead agent’s gun. And I’d like to watch you kill the former mayor of New York and his lovely wife.”
Ellen shot Tom a look, barely disguising her fear.
In the distant sky, a chopper appeared on the horizon.
Simpson shook his head. “You twisted son of a bitch. Go to hell, Van Ness.”
“I’m afraid this is your final chance. There will not be another phone call—I’m going to the Palais Garnier this evening and simply cannot afford to be late.”
“You’re finished once we get out of here. The British government will hunt you down.”
“Very well. Enjoy meeting the Foundation’s newest weapon.”
The call cut.
Moments later, the building’s power went out.
“Newest weapon?” Simpson asked. “What in God’s name does he mean?”
Before Cafferty could reply that he had no idea, multiple screams rang out from the lower floors. Cries of terror. And pain. He raced into the hallway, paused for a moment to figure out exactly where the chilling sounds were coming from, and pushed open the door to the fire escape steps. He then kicked himself for not picking up the dead guard’s gun first.
People had evacuated to the lower levels to flee from the smoke that was now engulfing the building. Panic had taken a firm grip.
But the people at the bottom of the stairs were surging up the fire escape stairwell, directly against others trying to reach the road.
What are they doing—
Then he saw it.
Cafferty stared down in shock.
A creature—an actual, aboveground creature—whipped its razor-sharp tail into the throng of people, carving through three torsos, cutting a path upward. It reached forward and grabbed a man’s head in its claws, then twisted it 180 degrees. A perfect, horrifying killing machine.
And it was coming up the stairs toward them.
Another member of the staff held his arm out to protect himself. The creature’s tail sliced through his forearm, then whiplashed through the side of his neck, and blood coated the pristine white staircase walls.
Something appeared different about this monstrosity, something besides the fact that it was aboveground, seemingly impervious to both light and oxygen. Tom couldn’t quite put a finger on it until he realized it was a little more human in form and slightly lighter in color than the ones that had attacked in New York. It also had only two arms, not four like the creatures underground. And it moved with a mission, a systematic kind of purpose that he hadn’t witnessed before.
Was it being controlled? Could a creature be controlled?
The idea made him think of Van Ness . . . and made him shudder at the possibilities.
The carnage continued unabated. Only ten people remained alive on the stairs.
Nine.
The creature grabbed a woman in a white blouse and raked its claws across her throat. Her carotid artery exploded outward.
Eight.
The smoke was becoming thicker by the second. The crackle of flames grew louder.
Snapping out of the mesmerizing massacre playing out below him, Cafferty sprinted back into the conference room. Ellen and Simpson, who were both peering toward the approaching chopper, turned to face him.
“We have to get out of here now,” Cafferty shouted. He stifled a cough. His eyes stung and his throat burned. “Van Ness’ new weapon is coming to tear us apart. It’s a fucking creature!”
Ellen’s jaw dropped. “What? How?”
Seconds later, one of the prime minister’s staff—a man in a dark suit—lunged into the conference room, panicked. Another rasping scream came from the staircase, maybe only one level away.
Cafferty grabbed the dead agent’s gun, and he and Ellen ushered the prime minister to the heliport, the three staff members closely behind. Even with the poor visibility due to smoke, he saw in their faces the same looks of hopelessness the people in the Pavilion in New York had displayed. A look of having encountered something beyond their wildest nightmares: a living monster that was actively hunting them down. Each fanned out to a different area of the helipad, probably thinking that the creature would go after one of the others.
As if those extra few seconds would matter.
Sirens blared in the distance.
A chair crashed through the conference room window and skidded across the ground. Smoke billowed out the hole. Cafferty raised the pistol and took aim. His chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath. He knew the bullets would have little impact unless he got lucky. A head shot in the right place. Maybe.
But it was one of the things his team had been practicing. The lasers were always key, but Bowcut had insisted they all have firearm training, just in case.
It was one thing grouping a clip in a paper target, though. Quite another when that target was darkness incarnate charging toward you. Cafferty steadied his arms.
The creature emerged through the dense smoke. Seven feet of solid muscle and razored edges. It stepped across the tarmac, eyeing the six people in turn. Blood dripped from its three rows of daggerlike teeth, and its tail swung from side to side. And it looked like there was some kind of small electronic box with a blinking red light attached to its head.
Cafferty gasped in disbelief. Had Van Ness truly found a way to control the creatures? This took things to a whole new level, and his mind went wild with the implications of the Foundation being able to weaponize the monsters themselves.
But immediate survival came first.
The female staff member, Stef, screamed. The creature leaped toward her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and clamped its teeth around her neck. Her eyes rolled up, then her limbs relaxed. It thrashed her body from side to side until her head tore free.
Cafferty’s eyes streamed. He attempted to aim through the smoke but couldn’t keep his now trembling hand steady. He fired twice in the general direction. Surprisingly, two rounds smacked into the creature’s back. Frighteningly, it didn’t even flinch.
The creature turned toward the two male staff members, who had both ran to the far edge of the heliport. It bounded after them. One efficient swing of the tail tore through both their legs at calf level. A skull-crunching stomp of the heel to one of the men’s head finished him off. The second man used his arms to drag himself up onto the edge of the roof, and he flipped off the side of the building. He screamed while falling all six floors, until his body hit the road.
Simpson sprinted back toward the conference room, likely thinking that with the creature at the farthest point away, he could make a run for the fire escape. But Cafferty knew it was pointless. Outrunning it wasn’t possible.
If anything, this creature, like the others Cafferty had encountered, seemed to enjoy it when people ran. Whether it was their hunting instinct or some kind of sport to them, it hurtled straight past Cafferty and Ellen, grunting out sharp breaths as it went, and it caught Simpson by the meeting room entrance.
Smoke obscured most of the brutality. But they could hear, and it was ghastly.
Then one of Simpson’s arms cartwheeled out of the smoke and slapped down against the heliport. Shortly after an extended scream, a pool of blood spilled across the roof.
Cafferty glanced skyward. The chopper was less than thirty seconds away.
“I love you, Tom,” Ellen said.
Their fingers interlocked even as Tom took aim with his free hand.
The creature emerged from the smoke once more and stalked toward them.
“I love you, too.”
The chopper was just about over the top of the building, but they had run out of time. Cafferty said a silent prayer. Sorrow welled inside him that it had to end like this. Butchered on the roof of a burning building, courtesy of Albert Van Ness.
He curled his finger around the trigger, knowing he probably had seconds to live. Scenes from his life raced through his mind.
His wedding day.
Ellen’s face when he lifted her veil.
Their honeymoon in the Bahamas, a private dinner on the beach watching the sunset.
The beautiful Visitors’ Pavilion before disaster struck.
The creature hunched to pounce.
Ellen squeezed his hand tighter.
This was it.
Suddenly, a brilliant red laser beam punched through the smoke and sliced the edge of the creature’s neck. It let out a gurgling howl as it staggered to the side.
Someone limped out of the conference room wearing a gas mask. They fired again and cut the beam across the creature’s head, sending a spray of bright yellow blood and brain matter across the concrete. The creature collapsed in a heap, and the electronic box attached to its head blinked red for the last time.
Cafferty puffed his cheeks. He had never felt closer to death.
Bowcut ripped off her mask. “What the hell is that thing?”
“Van Ness’ new weapon,” he spluttered. “I thought we were toast.”
“Sorry. Had certain issues of my own to deal with.”
Ellen rushed over to give Bowcut a hug. “Thank you!”
Sarah seemed uncomfortable with the show of affection but didn’t let go of her friend.
Tom absorbed the sight, a strange moment of happiness—or at least relief—after such an ordeal. But his mind wouldn’t let him enjoy it. “You know what this means?”
“Our timeline has changed. We can’t wait for help—we need to stop Van Ness now.” Sarah disengaged from Ellen and moved closer to the creature’s corpse. She leaned down to inspect its body and the small electronic box attached to its brain.
The chopper thumped directly over the heliport and slowed to a hover. The side door opened, revealing a man in a dark green uniform crouched inside. He scanned the roof.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cafferty—where’s the prime minister?” the flight sergeant asked.
“He’s dead,” Ellen replied as she quickly climbed into the cabin.
The sergeant eyed the corpse of the prime minister, torn apart on the roof.
“And the building is about to explode,” Cafferty added as he and Bowcut leaped into the chopper.
“Are there any more survivors?” the sergeant asked.
Cafferty shook his head. “Anyone who didn’t get out of the building earlier is dead already. I’m sorry, but we have to fly—now!”
The sergeant scrambled back into the cockpit as the chopper rose into the sky and powered away from the burning building.
Cafferty peered back at the carnage and considered the implications of what they had just seen. This new terrifying weapon at Van Ness’ disposal. An evolved creature aboveground, able to breathe oxygen, able to withstand light. And under that madman’s control.
A plume of fire belched up from the building’s roof before he could finish his thought. An explosion boomed over the sound of the engine. The shock wave hit the chopper, rocking its body. Cafferty gripped his seat to avoid being thrown across the cabin. He watched out the window as the pilot regained control, speeding away from the De Jong building. Or, rather, what was left of it.
The building collapsed downward into a heap of rubble and fire.
“Diego!” Ellen said, looking at Sarah.
“He moved to a more secure location once I entered the building. He’s fine.”
“Thank God,” Ellen said, relieved. She leaned her head against Tom’s shoulder, their arms entwined.
It gave him little comfort.
Because he now believed Van Ness’ words about the stakes never being higher between humanity and the creatures. The appearance of one in broad daylight had already told him that.
But it was Van Ness who was raising the stakes with this latest creation. Cafferty could only speculate how the Foundation had managed it. Not that it mattered how. What mattered was that it had. Which meant that the battle was coming aboveground, a prospect that momentarily sapped Tom of any hope. The mayhem and bloodshed of creatures storming through the packed streets of London—it was almost incomprehensible.
His team had lived to fight another day. The problem was he wasn’t sure how many days they had left.