Chapter 55: The Final Twist

“It’s not here.”

Tamara let those words settle a moment before adding, “Victor must have gotten it already and got away...”

“What does that mean for us?” Bridgewater asked calmly. “He still needs you to turn it on, right?”

“Yes. Unless he’s found another way. Another key.”

Bridgewater’s expression soured. “A possibility we’ve discussed...”

“But,” Gene cut in, “we never did come up with what to do should this be a goose chase. Is there any way to stop Victor if he’s got his last piece and turns on his transmission?”

Bridgewater’s face showed the truth.

Tamara replied, “No. Short of finding him and destroying the device, but I doubt even that would do the trick. He’ll have rigged it to work even if the original sender was removed from the system. Once on ... It would take a time, from people like Silver, to silence those instructions, and by then...”

“By then, people Victor wants dead are dead,” Bridgewater spat. He shook his head. “So goddamned close and I can’t see a way to close this final gap.”

Tamara frowned and chewed her lip. All of her certainty required there to be no alternative to a confrontation with Victor. Any other ending than that required knowledge she did not have. She’d staked their lives on being right. Was it possible Baron Quick had simply employed her as a ruse? Was he not actually working against Victor from the grave? Could she have misunderstood? Or, worse, did Quick twist her brain to make her believe false things? So little seemed to be within her control, least of which telling reality from false memory.

“We’re on the way right now, Logan, I promise.” Anna talked to him calmly from the front of the van being driven rapidly from the remote airstrip and still miles away from the suburban Atlanta neighborhoods where Logan called home.

“I know,” he fretted, “I’m just ... worried, alright? Please ... hurry!”

“It’s okay, Logan. I understand. Going as fast as possible, I promise you.”

To Logan it felt like crawling, even when the driver swerved through stopped traffic onto medians and sidewalks and oncoming traffic. Couldn’t the man go faster?

He saw Anna appear to concentrate, listening to words spoken into her earpiece. “They’re on site,” she told him, “Safe and secure.”

Logan felt one moment of euphoric relief, then his nerves rattled again and the van’s progress slowed to a stop. Logan growled in frustration. Anna reached back and took his hand, settling it on her thigh. “We’ll be there soon, Logan. Plenty of hero work left for you when we get there.”

He wasn’t sure if Anna was teasing him or not, but he chose to believe she used that word as an honorific rather than an insult, and he let the warmth of her thigh and her words of encouragement resolve him to some measure of patience.

“When was the last time you did that, Gene?” Holly asked him as the walked slowly through the suburban backyard much like many others in the miles stretching west and north around Atlanta. She nodded towards the cigarette he held, half-smoked, in his left hand. The pack was in his bedroom nightstand, just where he kept it for the occasional times he wished to smoke. Stale after so many weeks left behind, still a decent focus when he needed that hit.

“How long have we been running for our lives?” He asked rhetorically, then puffed and added, “Very rare habit of mine. One every week or two. Just a break, of sorts. Just one now and then. But that one ... Mmm...”

Holly reached into his pocket and pulled the cigarettes out, along with his lighter. She swiped open the cover, drew out a stick, and lit it. “Have one sometimes myself. Nasty habit, I suppose...”

“Not your nastiest,” he grinned despite his weary frustration.

Holly smiled and laughed, “Suppose not...”

The click was so light that it barely registered over the sounds of air conditioning and nightlife in the neighborhood, but it sent Gene diving against the outer wall of his house. Holly rolled to his right and sprang behind the shed. Gene reached for his pistol, and then saw the red dot on his chest.

“Don’t bother, Shay,” Victor’s voice called out a little nasally. “That’s just the one you see. Trust me, they won’t miss.”

Gene froze and waited, heart pounding.

“We already have your wife and children and all the others. Without a fight, actually. Glorious stuff, that spray Baron Quick whipped up all those years ago for just such situations. I’d show you here,” Victor said with obvious humor, “but it is rather expensive to manufacture. I’m sure you understand why I take you by more conventional means.”

“It’s over, Victor,” Gene growled, trying to buy time to think, or, he realized, for Holly to act. Surely she would find a way out of the current predicament. “You can’t turn it on. It won’t work like you think. It’s evil, and you know this. Your plan has been ruined.” Gene ran out of steam and breath, not even managing to convince himself the words were truth.

Victor’s laugh rumbled despite remaining rather low in volume, “I assure you, Shay, you are wrong on all counts. You also misunderstand my role in this. I am but a humble servant of the world, bringing it the peace it seeks and the guidance it craves. I bring justice and abundance and wisdom. Those who oppose me in this are opposed to the well being of all men.”

Gene spat. “You mean all men who survive your slaughter.”

Victor laughed again, “Just so ... Ah, there she is.”

Gene turned behind him quickly to see Holly’s limp body being dragged between two black-clad men. Gene’s anger rose, “Victor, if you hurt her—”

“She is just fine, just fine. For now.” The man paused. “My, such a crush you seem to have developed since that night I let you fuck my granddaughter.”

“You let me do nothing. She wanted it.”

“So she told you. No, Shay. You misunderstand there, too. Holly has ever only been my puppet. She may think otherwise, but she plays her part as expected. She kept you safe, just like I trained her to do. She’ll only be unconscious until I have time to debrief her. Holly sucked you in, Shay. She sucked you in, right through your goddamned cock!”

Gene’s stomach turned over. Could it be true? Had Holly really been working against him this whole time? Was she lying about loving him? It didn’t seem possible. Couldn’t be true. Gene spat and tried to stand.

“Slowly, just to your feet, and then... , “ Victor’s nasal rumble rolled.

Gene had barely straightened his knees when he felt something in his head crunch and dizziness sank him into darkness.

Finch stretched against his bonds and once again found them immovable. He vowed to keep trying, but the situation was dire and harrowing.

Everyone had been tied up, in chairs or on the floor, gagged, a few with blindfolds. Finch’s eyes were clear for the moment. He’d awoken in a daze to discomfort, but it took little time to realize the context of his troubles.

They brought his dad in, limp, just moments after they did the same with Holly, tying, gagging, and blindfolding each of them.

Finch thought there were six or seven of them in all, the kidnappers, including Victor. They said little around the captives, and Finch saw a frighting expression on Victor’s face whenever he looked into the room.

The man finally stepped in fully and looked around. All but Gene and Holly were roused and looking as frightened as Finch felt. “Well, I suppose there is no need for further delay. Tamara, I believe you and I must have a conversation.” Victor, nose bandaged neatly from where Finch had smashed it earlier, held a thick, modest-sized picture frame which showed a photo of Finch’s parents from many years earlier. It had been in his parent’s bedroom for as long as Finch could remember, and it made no sense to Finch why Victor was then holding it.

The man ran his fingers down a seam and cracked it open on the coffee table, taking a very small metal case out of the frame’s shell. Victor pushed the case towards Finch’s mother, then settled onto the seat. The man nodded to two men standing beside the door, and seconds later, Finch’s mother was hefted onto the couch, swinging her body trying to dislodge her arms from tight grips. She flopped down, mostly upright, and fumed at Victor, her face more calm than it should have been.

As soon as the tight gag was unraveled, Tamara took a deep breath. Her panic had set in the moment she realized she was passing out, and it only renewed in force the moment her eyes opened and she felt the bonds around her limbs and mouth. No matter what she believed was going to happen, it was a terrifyingly raw experience. Seeing the others, including her husband and children, bound and writhing in pain around her made things much worse.

“I believe you hold my key, yes?”

Tamara said nothing, waiting for the right time to break Victor’s heart. She knew instinctively that Quick’s hold on that secret was not in place now that Victor was around. Tamara could almost hear Quick’s sick laughter from the grave.

“I’ll have it, one way or another. Do you wish this to be painful?”

Tamara smiled, “I can handle pain.”

“Oh, no, no,” Victor chided with his wagging finger, “you misunderstand. I did not mean your pain.” The man nodded and Tamara spun to see one of the dark-suited guards drive his thick boot into Finch’s stomach. Before Tamara could cry out in horror, Victor added, “Or do you prefer it be your daughter?” A similar cruel kick was delivered to Lauren. Both teens were sobbing and in terror.

“Stop!” Tamara cried. She lost all enthusiasm for the game she was playing. “I’ll open it!”

Victor leaned forward with a smooth smile in place, “As I knew you would.” He pushed the case towards her, “Don’t bother trying to break it. I think we both know what would happen ... inside you. Besides, I can make a replacement for my baby ... I rather think,” he rumbled, nodding towards Finch and Lauren, “you cannot?”

Tamara understood his points all too clearly.

The case opened and inside was the palm-sized transmitter Tamara knew would be there. She picked it up and flicked the switch on the top left. It hummed a moment, readout flashing light green and then orange and then deep green.

It wasn’t much, really, to turn it on. Tamara hardly had to do a thing at all. She held it near her left cheek for twelve seconds, then passed it down her left side and held it against her outer thigh for another twelve.

The display changed from deep green to bright red. She hit one button, then a second, finally holding her thumb down on the big oval blue one at the bottom.

The display went black.

“What happened!?” Victor exclaimed. “You broke it!”

Before he could react with physical retribution, Tamara held her hand out and said, “No! Wait thirty seconds! Just wait!”

They all stared at the screen, and it was possibly the longest thirty seconds of Tamara’s life.

Three small blue dots flashed on, then off, then on then off, a fourth lighting up, and then a fifth, spreading across the middle of the readout. “It’s on,” Tamara muttered, “It’s sending...”

The joy on Victor’s face was sickening. The man was rather full of himself in that moment. He leapt from the couch and pumped a fist, thumping his chest, reaching his arms up to the sky and proclaimed, “I am the Almighty himself!”

Lauren’s pain was matched by her raw terror. The kick had only made things worse, not pushed them into such places by itself. She couldn’t move anything but her head, and her cramping muscles were starting to twitch and stretch painfully. Victor’s shout about being the Almighty added a tension unlike anything she’d ever known. The world seemed it was sure to end for her.

Victor started laughing, spinning on his heels, dancing a little to his own rhythm, then he rounded back towards those in the room. “It will be fast, I assure you. The death. This is no boring cancer to take years to get you, no, this is quick. Causes the blood to clot. Simple plan, really. Better than the others. Quick was a tragic genius, to be sure. Your blood thickens and you stop breathing. Pretty damn simple!”

Lauren could almost feel it happening, though it was hard to feel anything except pain. It terrified her to be, essentially, frozen from the inside. She managed a scream in terror and quieted as soon as she saw the sick look on Victor’s face. “Oh, don’t worry, sweet girl. You aren’t going to die. You get to survive this. You and my granddaughter. You get to live! Aren’t you glad?!”

Lauren felt anything but glad, and she doubted the man was telling her the truth, regardless. She spit in his direction, too frightened to control her throat for more than gathering phlegm.

“I’ll break that attitude, I assure you. You will be a fun one to break...”

Victor’s eyes turned and swept across the others. “You feel it, yes? You feel it in your veins? The thickness, the molasses moving slower and slower, choking your brain and your lungs and your heart?”

Lauren thought she did and tried to scream again with no success.

Victor paced a long minute.

Lauren, despite her terror, didn’t actually feel any worse.

“You should be clotting by now! Hurry up, hurry up! What is taking so long?”

The longer Lauren concentrated on the depth of her breathing, the solid, rapid rhythm of her heartbeat, the more she was becoming convinced she felt nothing terribly worse. Sure, everything hurt, but there was no increasing pressure to inhale, her heart, surely racing, did not feel more heavy or her beats more forced. Another minute passed and Lauren realized one of two things was happening: either the effects took more time than expected to present, or Victor’s plan had crashed and burned.

Lauren certainly hoped for the latter, though fear of the former, and the longer, more painful suffering it might bring, tried to force another scream from her constricted throat.

The tension in the room was thick and frightening. Victor’s mood shifted from joyous to furious in the span of five minutes. He rambled and raved, questioning everything, insulting those around Tamara and Tamara herself. They were nearing a breaking point. Victor would start lashing out in vengeance shortly, impatience ruling his emotions. Tamara had held back her only trick to the last, but she had nothing left to buy them any more time before Victor snapped and started killing them.

It was Quick’s trick. The one only she knew.

“It doesn’t work, Victor,” Tamara told him flatly. “It never worked.”

“Lying whore!”

He slapped her across the face, but short of stabbing or shooting her, Tamara was not going to yield. “Quick tricked you. He changed the game. It never worked. The studies on flies and rats and people ... All lies he fed to you. The falling out ... that, too, was planned. He never expected to be killed so easily, but he knew what he was doing. You’ve been chasing an empty shell for years, Victor. It never worked.”

Victor’s face trembled and she thought he might hit her again. Instead, he sat rather calmly on to the couch, leaned towards her, and whispered, “Tell me everything” with a hiss.

Tamara saw no reason not to, and it was stalling the end of things. Surely, Victor was never going to let them live, one way or another. Tamara could only buy time and wish for a miracle. “The resonant proteins can respond to the signal, it’s true, but the problem was the virus. It was rather unstable in anything bigger than a fluke or flea. It tended to get caught up and eaten along the way. The human immune system picked it up quite easily, leaving little more than a short fever or flu before cutting the virus away and discharging it.”

“But we fed it into water and food in such quantities, it would be ever-present!”

“Yes, but again, once the immune system picked it up, it flushed it easier the second time. A tolerance of sorts. And even in cases where the rare person didn’t fight off the initial infection, few actually died. Almost all recovered within a week or two. At best, you were ever going to cause a mild concern for a few days. Your signal will get discovered and it will be shut off for all time.”

Victor swallowed in two motions, betraying his calm appearance. “You lie, whore. You lie to save face. You’ve been played. You’ve all been played.”

“As have you,” Tamara said, “you were Baron Quick’s puppet all along.”

His lip curled and something akin to a snarl came out, but Victor remained seated, tense and flushed.

“I was, too,” Tamara admitted, “I was as much his puppet as yours.”

“You carried the key, of course you were!”

“More than that,” Tamara told him. “You never knew the truth about Quick, Victor. The reason I was his puppet.”

His glare was silent.

“Baron Quick was my father.”

Victor’s silence for long seconds was a small pleasure before what Tamara was sure would be the end for her.

“He was a cruel man,” she continued, “even to me. Like you, he had no concerns about using people to his ends. But he understood what you were going to do from the very beginning. He fed you what you wanted to hear, and he sucked your fortune, and assuredly, many others, into his own accounts. All the time, he was sabotaging your plot. All the time, he planned to use me to get to you. We were both tools in his shed, Victor. He never expected to die before his fortune was spent. Some of it ... remained with me. Or Gene, rather. Appearances and all.”

Victor’s breathing was slow and steady. “And when did you know all this?”

“Only very recently. Quick hid my memories the same way he did others.” Tamara looked past Victor to where Gene’s bloodshot eyes were staring at her. “It was me who got you into Whitehead, Gene. Not the other way around. My father knew Utah. I can’t believe how backwards we had all this!”

ackwards we had all this!”

Gene’s look told her that his pain and frustration and weariness and fear were breaking him right before her eyes.

“I’m proof, Victor,” Tamara said with resolve. “If this was going to work, I’d be dead by now. My devices, there are two of them, placed along my spine in such a way as to be invisible without surgery, feed me a steady stream of the viral loads. I’m swimming with resonant proteins. It’s how the Collins Box device tuned into me and unlocked some of those memories. It can work, if done properly.

“But your signal ... it’s noise. There was never an algorithm developed to do what you wanted to do. Quick made that up. If your signal was working, the virus in me would have responded already. It didn’t work.”

Victor’s face hid all emotions, revealing nothing about the man’s reaction. Slowly, his eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. Then he nodded, just as slowly, once, twice, once more. “I see.”

Victor let the words hang in the air for a long time. Gene could hear low moaning nearby, unsure who it might be. The remaining silence was broken only by the low whoosh of a car going down the street nearby.

“Well. Regardless. This is but a setback. I’ve had worse. I will not be deterred. I have not failed, I have only not yet succeeded. I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you to find my... thanks ... for your participation less... gentle ... than you may think gracious.”

The black-clad men began shuffling out, and Victor left the room. Two men came back in, spraying some jelly-like substance on the walls and floors, splashing drops on Gene’s face and arms, some stinging his right eye. “Nooooo!” he heard Tamara scream in horror.

And then Gene saw the flames spring up as the last man stepped through the doorway. Oh ... No!

His reaction was sudden and swift and unlike anything Logan had ever seen.

Jesus was prostrate for the moment, almost as if in prayer as they finished securing the two guards who had been patrolling the house. Anna and Erol had helped, but mostly, it had involved Jesus’s quick hands and feet and carefully placed fists. The soldiers were unconscious and tied, finally, and they stared up into the house.

So far, they couldn’t see anything much. Logan had suggested there was an upstairs area where, from the ground, it would be difficult to see anything within.

They had listened, as well, but heard nothing of interest.

Nothing of interest until two men went racing through a downstairs room and out the front door, dashing towards the dark van parked nearby. Jesus’s reflexes were simply astounding.

The dark-skin man leapt from their cover beside a shed and tackled both as they attempted to open the door. Anna was right behind them and in seconds the two men were out cold.

Panic started to set in when Logan heard his mother’s voice screaming “Nooooo!”

Jesus raced back and said to sit tight, his head moving on a swivel and his body tense.

“Fire!” Erol shouted beside him, “Upstairs!”

Logan could see flames shooting up one wall and threatening to spread quickly.

Gunfire exploded near the front door and Erol raced to Anna’s side. Jesus started to do the same but then looked up. Logan watched him hesitate for no more than two heartbeats, then the man yelled, “I need your help! Follow!”

Jesus raced around the house, checking the corners before moving on, then up the back steps. He slammed himself against it twice, then yelled, “FuckGodFuckFuck,” before snatching his pistol out and peering inside. He stepped back, fired three booming shots, and kicked the door inward, waving Logan to follow him.

There were two men just inside the wall on the other side of the house, but they were engaged with Anna and Erol, and Jesus led away from them. Smoke was starting to spread through the vents but the downstairs rooms were still breathable. “Cover you mouth!” Jesus shouted, doing so with his own shirt, then headed up the stairs.

Logan started to follow him only to be knocked over by Jesus’s body rolling heavily down the stairs. They crashed against the wall and Logan was knocked a little silly. His eyes felt heavy and thick, but when he saw movement above, his focus gained strength and he realized Victor was shuffling quickly in his direction.

The man looked a rage, flushed and sweaty, rubbing his neck and cheek, bandage covering his nose. His eyes spotted Logan and his snarl grew intense.

“Die, you little shit. Just like your whore mother!”

Logan’s heart skipped exactly one beat before he was on his feet, pistol in hand, pointing it right at Victor’s heart.

The man skidded to a stop on the last step and hesitated. He laughed, “Really, boy? You haven’t got the—”

The blast might have burst one of Logan’s eardrums, but the satisfying sight of sticky red exploding from Victor’s chest and the useless clutching of the man’s fingers was more than enough.

Victor toppled in disbelief, staggering. He started to cough, falling heavily against the outer wall, shock clear on his face. He tried to speak, but the words gargled and were lost.

Logan looked down at the dying man. “Told you I was old enough to be a soldier.” He kicked Victor’s head then turned to see Jesus rallying and starting to stand. “You okay?” Logan asked, starting to head for the stairs.

Jesus nodded and Logan raced up.