Authors: Michael Grant
Plath and Stern were both enjoying a stroll through Central
Park. It was a lovely day. Frisbees skimmed, kites bobbed and weaved
against a pale blue sky, and skaters clogged the paved paths.
“Okay,” Plath said. Then added, “Good,” because her father had
always taught her the value of praising the people who worked for
you. “Is there more?”
Stern didn’t answer at first, then he asked, “Do you want more?”
Now it was her turn to hesitate. She knew what he was asking.
Did she want to know more? Did she want or need to know more?
“Tell me, and I’ll decide whether I want more.”
Stern sighed. “I’ve been contacted by a person in Lebanon, a
hacker who, as you might expect, says his name is Anonymous.”
Stern rolled his eyes slightly. “He’s following AFGC following us.
He had some very interesting information on the terrorist incident
in Hong Kong.”
“What does it have to do with us?”
“If this fellow is to be believed, the Armstrong Twins were
aboard that LNG ship. In fact, they owned it, and used it as a sort
of …as a …I don’t even know what to call it. Some sort of cross
between a zoo and an insane asylum, I suppose. A floating chamber
of horrors. According to our Lebanese friend, Swedish intelligence
and the Royal Navy are involved. The Chinese are trying to put a lid
on everything, and they’re damned good at cover-ups.”
“Were the Twins killed?”
Stern shook his head. “No one knows. There are rumors both
ways.”
“And why would we believe this Lebanese guy?”
Stern smiled. “Because he gave us the keys to the kingdom. He
showed us the way into the AFGC system.”
The possibilities made Plath’s head spin. Against all odds they
had scored a victory. The FBI and Secret Service were frantically
chasing down every rumor having to do with the president’s bizarre
and shattering suicide. And intelligence services the world over were
investigating the Hong Kong incident.
Soon they would find out about BZRK, too.
But they had taken Bug Man out of the game. Burnofsky had
been released—a changed man. Vincent was perhaps on his way
back…. They walked on in silence for a while.
“There’s an island,” Stern said. “It’s called Île Sainte-Marie and it’s
off the coast of Madagascar, quite inaccessible, easy to monitor the single small airport, and the local officials can be bought off for a song.”
Plath smiled at him. “Beaches?”
“The most beautiful white sand beaches. Mile after mile of them.
We could keep you safe there.”
“I know you could. For a while, Mr Stern. But the technology has
been created, and if the Twins are still alive …No place would be safe
if they take that last step.”
“So.”
She nodded. “I was trapped into this. I’ve seen some terrible
things, and I’ve done some terrible things.” She couldn’t remember
Burnofsky’s exact words, but these were close. “Lear knew once I was
in it would be impossible to get myself back out.”
“But we can get you out, Sadie.”
Plath looked past him, to Keats, who walked at a distance, watching, waiting until she was done, waiting to see whether, in the end,
she would run or stand and fight.
And she looked on beyond Keats, to the man who stood under
the trees, shadows muting the lilac and green of his clothing, silhouetting his tall hat.
“There is no out,” she said.
She turned abruptly away, then stopped, looked back at him.
“One more thing, Mr Stern. You know the phony search for Lear?
Make it real. Find him for me. Find Lear.”
Author’s Note: There are so many people involved in the writing of a
book, and I can’t thank them all. But one name has to be mentioned:
Leah Thaxton, my editor for the first BZRK and this one as well.
Leah has left Egmont to take on even greater challenges than dealing with certain cranky writers. BZRK wouldn’t exist without Leah.
A lot of good books wouldn’t exist without Leah, and because of her
ongoing work, many more will be created.