SHE FOUND ORTEGA wandering around near the restrooms on the far side of the ballroom. There were only a few people around, and they didn’t pay attention when she went to his side and took his arm.
She drew him around a corner and stood close. If anyone was watching, they looked away politely. An older man and a much younger woman. It was a fairly common sight in Florida.
He looked right at her and, again, completely failed to recognize her.
She looked into his eyes. She recognized the loss and confusion there. He’d been cut off. Now he was drowning in his past, the years washing over him. He was clinging to his most recent memories as if they were a raft that would save him.
It was cruel, when viewed from the outside, but it wasn’t enough.
For a moment, she wondered why Ortega was being punished like this. If Ortega was still here, then in his more lucid moments he must have believed that Simon would take pity on him and give him a drink, restoring him.
Whatever Ortega had done to anger Simon, it had been good luck for her. She would have been recognized otherwise, and that might have meant failure.
She was done hesitating. No more good-bye kisses. It was time for an end to all of this.
“I know I know you,” he said.
“You know me,” she agreed. “Do you remember?”
He tried. He struggled to bring it back up to the surface.
She helped.
“You had a sword. My family was all around you, running. One man tried to stop you, bare-handed, and you slashed open his throat. The women screamed. The children cried. And you were laughing.”
There it was. Finally. A spark of recognition.
“No,” he said. “That wasn’t— It was a different time. It was so long ago.”
“Not long enough,” she said, and slid her dagger—the one she’d strapped to her other thigh—up under his ribs and into his heart.
“Shako,” he said.
She set him down more gently than he deserved and left him there. If anyone found the body, it wouldn’t matter now.
This was where it ended. And she’d already begun.
SIMON TOOK THE LECTERN on the stage at the front of the ballroom.
The gabble of conversation immediately quieted down.
David stood on the floor, in front of the stage. Here we go, he thought. This is the last moment of your normal life. This is where it starts. This is where you finally begin to save everyone.
Once the announcement was made, there would be frenzy and skepticism, praise and scorn, a million Internet headlines, ignorant people talking knowledgeably about it on every TV channel.
There would be millions of people clamoring for a spot in the clinical trials, and millions more who would want to use his formula the same way Simon had, to look and feel twenty years old again.
But eventually, there would be acceptance. Eventually, it would get to the right people.
This was where everything changed, but it would be worth it in the end.
“FRIENDS,” SIMON SAID. “THANK you all for coming tonight. Even those of you who are just here for the free booze.”
Polite laughter.
“People always asked my father, ‘Why is the company called Conquest?’ I mean, it doesn’t make sense, does it? We’ve always been a medical firm. We’ve made vaccines, drugs, and devices that are all about keeping people alive. So, why Conquest? Why name the company after something that sounds like blood and war and death?”
Simon smiled and leaned forward. “This is what my father and his father always said: ‘Because Conquest is what we do. We conquer markets. We conquer our rivals. We conquer diseases and human frailty and age and sickness of every kind. That is what we do, and that is why it is our name.’ ”
Spontaneous applause. Simon could really work a crowd.
“But today, that name is more fitting than at any time in our history. Today, we are announcing a new product, developed exclusively for our company by Dr. David Robinton, who is here with us tonight. Take a bow, David.”
David did not bow. He got a round of applause anyway. People near him patted him on the back and smiled.
“Today, we announce a product that is nothing less than revolutionary. And I don’t mean in the usual bullshit marketing way. I mean this really is going to change the whole world. You will tell your grandchildren you were here this evening. You will tell your great-grandchildren, and their children. You will tell them in person. Because that is what we have done. Conquest has finally achieved the goal it was built for: we have conquered death itself.”
The movie theater–size screen behind Simon lit up with a stylized logo: REGENESYS.
“We have created a drug that reverses the effects of aging.”
Simon let that sit there for a moment. The crowd seemed unsure of how to take the news.
“I know what you’re thinking. This sounds like some crazy fountain-of-youth infomercial scheme. But it is the truth. ReGenesys will actually turn back the clock, physically, on every process in your entire body. It will cure almost any disease, and will halt senility and aging. I know it sounds too good to be true, but I would not be telling you this if I had not seen it with my own eyes. This is an actual miracle, made by science. And you get to be a part of it. Now, we cannot release everything yet. We still have enemies out there in the world. But I would not be telling you this if the product did not work, and if we were not ready to begin human trials. In less than a year, you will see this on the market. And everyone in this room will be richer than you ever dreamed possible.”
That brought about the loudest applause of the night.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for listening. Now it’s time to celebrate. The future is bright—and every one of us will be around to see it. Thank you.”
SIMON SHOOK OFF THE dozens of people who wanted to question him, who kept demanding answers. He wanted to see David.
He walked over and embraced the scientist.
“ReGenesys?” David asked.
“Best our marketing people could do on short notice. We didn’t give them a lot of time to focus-group it.”
“Whatever you want to call it. I don’t care. As long as everyone gets a chance at it.”
The crowd pressed at them both from all angles. Simon nodded and smiled. “Just a minute,” he told someone. “Be right there.”
Then he turned back to David, his eyes serious, the mask of youth gone for a moment. “I keep my word, David. Be sure that you do the same.”
David felt cold. Whenever Simon let down his guard like this, David had the feeling that something more dangerous lurked underneath. It reminded him, uncomfortably, of the sound of a gun being cocked.
But he wasn’t about to back down. “You’ve got no reason to doubt me,” David said. “I’ve never lied to you.”
If Simon heard the veiled reproach, he gave no indication. Just like that, the grin was back. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “So, you going stag at the biggest party of your life? That’s really pathetic.”
“My date’s in the restroom.”
“Of course she is.”
Irritation swept over David, displacing any unease he’d felt a moment before. For someone who was actually a senior citizen, Simon could be incredibly immature. Then he caught a glimpse of Shy as she headed toward them. “In fact, here she is now,” he said.
Simon turned in the direction David was looking.
Shy was partially blocked by the crowd, but David still felt an absurd pride, the science geek who’d managed to bring the prettiest girl to the prom.
Simon’s mouth actually dropped open. David wasn’t expecting that much of a reaction, but he wasn’t going to say he didn’t like it.
Simon kept staring as Shy quickly stepped to David’s side. The crowd kept pushing them all together. She moved in close, wrapping her arm around his, her other hand holding her clutch purse. She kissed him quickly on the cheek, but her eyes did not leave Simon’s.
“Simon, this is Shy,” David said.
“We’ve met,” Shy said.
Simon said, “No.”
Then Shy brought up the hand with the clutch purse. The purse dropped. A blade appeared there, as if from nowhere. It was already spotted with blood.
Someone began to scream.
IMPOSSIBLE, SIMON THOUGHT, AND lost a precious few seconds to disbelief.
He was safe. He was surrounded by security and hundreds of his supporters. He had not seen her close-up in more than a hundred years. It had to be some kind of mistake.
But it wasn’t. He knew that.
And yet he watched her entwine herself with David, place a kiss on his cheek and smile at him, all while he stared like an idiot.
Shako. Close enough to touch.
Touching David.
She raised her hand, and he saw the knife.
He finally began to move.
THE WOMAN SAW THE man’s skinny ankles from behind the potted plant, black socks sagging, revealing a pale stripe of hairy leg.
She’d gone looking for a quiet spot to sneak a cigarette at the back of the ballroom, away from her husband, who still jogged every morning and could quote morbidity statistics for smokers off the top of his head. What she got for marrying a cardiologist.
She wondered if the man was ill, or perhaps drunk, so she stepped around the plant and leaned down to speak to him.
Then she saw the horrible red blood all over his shirt, the horrible second mouth opened in his chest.
She began screaming, and everyone turned to the back of the room to look.
IT WAS ENOUGH TO distract the bodyguards for a crucial second.
They were having a hard enough time keeping an eye on Simon as he moved into the crowd. They thought he was safe in the scrum of expensive suits and dresses. Besides, he liked to have space to do the meet and greet.
Only one of them turned from the commotion at the rear of the ballroom in time to see Simon suddenly dancing backward, knocking people out of his way, a bright red slash across his tuxedo shirtfront.
The woman with the knife went after him.
At this point, people still thought Simon had bumped into them because he was drunk or stoned or simply rude. Their brains had not quite caught up to what their eyes were seeing.
The bodyguard, however, had been trained for this. He didn’t hesitate.
He withdrew his gun, a Glock nine-millimeter loaded with wadcutter rounds, and opened fire.
MAX SAW HER AT almost the same time Simon did. From across the room, near the bar. He saw her take David’s arm and kiss him.
Then the screaming started a panic, and the gunshots only added to the stampede. The noise went from one woman wailing in the back to a universal screech that filled the air.
Chaos.
Max did not stop to wonder how Shako had gotten this close, or how she’d gotten a knife inside the party. Pointless questions. It was Shako.
He shouted at Peter and Sebastian, who were rooted in place a few dozen yards away, trying to see what was going on.
One word: “Shako!” Then he ran toward the shooting.
The bodyguard was trying to hit Shako. Max was sure he was a good shot under other circumstances. But he would never even get close to her. She was too fast. Max had seen her dance around automatic-weapon fire before.
The bodyguard was putting his bullets every place she had been a moment before. As a result, he was doing a lot of collateral damage.
A clot of people blocked Max’s way. Max didn’t slow down. He leaped and cleared them all, rising eight feet in the air and covering twenty feet of distance.
The Water had given them all great gifts. He hadn’t used his in some time.
Shako spun and dodged the bullets again, and, as she always did, found a way to turn an enemy into an advantage.
She hesitated for a second.
The bodyguard drew a bead on her.
She danced away, just before he pulled the trigger.
Simon was behind her, now directly in the line of fire.
Max reached the bodyguard just in time, hit the man with a full-body block that sent him spiraling across the floor, skidding to a rest against the wall.
He’d dropped his gun. Max scooped it up and began looking for his target.
SHAKO CURSED HERSELF FOR being so dramatic. She had to get close to use a knife, true, but she didn’t have to let Simon speak. She didn’t have to do anything but cut his throat.
Instead: “We’ve met.” Stupid.
Still, the look on his face.
She saw Max take out the guard who was busy shooting up the room. Then she lost him in the rush of bodies.
She found Simon again, though. He was hurt, not badly, but enough to make him stand out, blood soaked into his shirt, a red flag that let her track him wherever he went. He ran toward the stage.
She moved to pursue him when another body blocked her.
Sebastian.
He snarled something obscene at her in Spanish, his beautiful features made ugly with hate, and threw a punch at her.
She ducked under it and came up with a kick that caught him on the chin.
It snapped his jaw shut and pointed his eyes at the ceiling.
She was about to follow it with another kick to his midsection when Peter caught her arm. He whirled her about and reached for her neck.
She sliced with the blade, missing anything vital but opening a nasty cut across his forehead all the way down to his nose.
The blood welled up from the split flesh and ran into his eyes.
He cursed and let her go.
Sebastian was mostly recovered by then. He unleashed a flying roundhouse kick at her head.
She would have rolled her eyes if she’d had time. Always going for the big, fancy move. He never changed.
She followed him around as he spun, and drove the point of the blade into his back.
It deflected off his shoulder and did not reach his heart, but his sudden roar of pain was a good result in itself.
She yanked the blade free and looked for Simon again.
Two bodyguards got in her way. She hit one and broke his sternum in three places. The other went down after she punched him in the throat, choking on the wreckage of his hyoid bone and cartilage.
They were soldiers, she reminded herself. They stepped into the battle willingly.
She found Simon again. In the whirlwind of chaos, she saw that he’d stopped running. He was kneeling on the floor. Helping someone up.
It was David.
Simon lifted him from the ground and pulled him toward the door. David limped. He left a trail of blood drops. He’d been hit by a stray round.
There was nothing altruistic in this, Shako knew. Simon needed David. That’s why he’d been her ticket inside.
What she couldn’t figure out was why she still cared what happened to him.
She crossed the distance between them in a matter of steps.
She pulled David away from Simon and sent him spilling to the floor again.
Finally, finally, finally, this was almost done. She would finally be able to rest.
Simon was too off-balance to put up much resistance as she spun him around and got the tip of her knife beneath his ear.
Just one long, even motion, and then he’d be dead. Even if they killed her now, he would finally pay.
She heard someone shout her name.
“Shako!” Max bellowed.
She looked. She saw him.
He stood a yard from David. He held a gun, aimed at David’s chest. There was no way he could miss at that range.
Everything seemed to stop.
MOST OF THE FLOOR was clear. Only a few of the partygoers remained, the ones who had been hurt too badly to run or who hid in the corners.
They peeked out to watch the standoff.
Max kept the gun trained on David, who was kneeling, caught halfway while rising.
“Stay down,” Max told him.
Simon gasped, caught in Shako’s arms. “Max, don’t—” he blurted, before Shako cut him off by poking the tip of the knife into his neck.
“Shut up.” To Max, she said, “You think that’s going to stop me?”
Max smiled. “Seems like it already has.”
David remained kneeling. “So you guys all know each other, I guess,” he said.
Shako almost laughed at that. She noticed Sebastian and Peter moving closer. “Back up,” she warned them. “I won’t tell you again.”
They stopped where they were but didn’t back off.
“This is where you decide who’s worth more,” Max said. “Your old lover or your new one.”
“He’s nothing to me.”
“Then why haven’t you killed Simon yet?”
Shako hesitated. That was a very good question.
David looked at her, fear mingled with confusion and betrayal. He did not know her. He was her key to a door, that was all. She had learned that sacrifices had to be made. People died. That was the way of the world.
But this . . . As with the girl, Elizabeth. This was not simply letting someone else die.
This was something she caused. This was uncomfortably close to murder.
She’d killed dozens, hundreds of people, to get here. She thought her conscience could take the weight.
The question was, could it handle one more?
The moment stretched like a tightrope, tension drawing out exquisitely as the spectators watched, waiting for the moment when someone dropped, when a human being became a dead body right before their very eyes.
She looked at David and made her decision.
She released Simon.
Max smiled and pulled the trigger anyway.
DAVID FELT A HARD punch against his chest. He’d thought the bullet fragment that caught him in the leg was the worst pain he’d ever known. But this was much worse.
The pain did not subside. It only grew and radiated outward, expanding until it felt like a new form of gravity that was bringing down the whole world on him.
He struggled to breathe. Dimly, he was aware of people moving around him. Max disappearing from the edge of his vision. People running, the clip-clop of high heels as they rushed for the exits. Shouting. He thought he saw Peter go flying through the air at least seven feet over his head, but that was crazy.
Then Shy was there, her face at the end of a dark tunnel. She looked deeply into his eyes, as if searching for something.
He knew, in an abstract way, that her arms were around him, but he could not feel them. He tried to speak but could not catch his breath. Goddamn. This really hurt.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
The tunnel began to close. Her face was the last thing he saw before everything went black.