Council of Evil (7 page)

Jake remained silent, and stared at the floor. He could sense Basilisk briefly turn to look at him. Did he know what Jake had done? Was this a test?

“So what's next?” said Jake, eager to change the subject.

“I shall return to my base and prepare the Probe. In the meantime, you rest. There will be much for you to do when my plan rolls into operation.”

Jake sighed and decided to press again. “What is the plan?”

“All in due time, Hunter. You will know soon enough.”

It was almost five in the morning by the time Jake was dropped back at the steel mill and it was still dark. The SkyKar had flown so quickly that the dawn light in India had yet to cross through time zones to reach him. A thin layer of frost had coated his bicycle but at least it hadn't been stolen.

Jake's gaze combed the star-spangled sky. He was no longer feeling frightened by being left alone in the factory, but instead curious as to why Basilisk had chosen him. Clearly he'd been spied on, but for how long? And what was all that stuff about it being “in his blood?”

So far Jake had had no clear goals in his life, or role models to follow. But now he did. He wanted to be like Basilisk—he wanted the freedom to do as he wished and he wanted power—power over people so they wouldn't hassle him anymore.

Feeling good, Jake pedaled furiously home. For once he knew how he wanted his life to play out. And it was full of exciting possibilities.

* * *

Something roused Jake from sleep. His blurry vision gave way to the digital red numbers on his alarm clock informing him that it was a little after midday.

Jake still felt tired as he went downstairs, even though he had fallen asleep the moment his head had touched the pillow. Vivid dreams had replayed the events in India—the faces of the terrified scientists staring at him, pleading for their lives. And his dreams created bizarre images of him and Basilisk riding the Core Probe to the center of the earth like a motorcycle, heading for some unknown destination, before it melted from the intense heat.

His family was already around the kitchen table having lunch. Jake slumped into his seat as his parents mumbled their “good mornings” or rather, their “good afternoons.” His sister looked at him across the table.

“What're you staring at?” he growled.

“You look terrible, Jacob.”

“So do you,” he snapped back.

His mother studied him, concern on her face. “You do seem a little pale, hon.” She touched his forehead. “Temperature's fine though.”

“There's nothing wrong with me.” Although in truth he did feel weak. Perhaps that was a side effect of last night's exertion?

“You hungry? I'm making grilled cheese.”

“Fine,” Jake said, turning his attention back to his sister.

“It'd be hysterical if you were sick during the holidays,” she said with a thin smile.

“Shut up.”

His dad intervened without taking his eyes from the crossword he had been attempting to complete. “Jake, don't tell your sister to shut up.”

Beth looked triumphant as she shoveled a spoonful of soup into her mouth. “I think you should stay locked in your room until we're back at school. In case it's contagious. I wouldn't want to catch
anything
off
you
.”

Jake's temper snapped and he jumped to his feet, stretching his hand toward his sister, willing a stab of radioactive energy to hurl her off her seat.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, but succeeded only in making his sister stop eating. She frowned. “What are you doing? Got a cramp in your hand?”

“I'm trying to melt your spoon!” he snarled, puzzled.

“You are seriously weird. I hope that's not genetic.”

Jake realized he must look like a fool, poised over the table in an action stance, but he had other things to worry about. His superpowers were completely gone.

“Congratulations for activating your account,” Jake read.
As soon as lunch was over, he'd dashed to his room and logged onto his e-mail. “Your continued membership has been approved by the Council and a Villain.net representative will once again be in touch with you to further your new career.”

Jake felt a thrill. At least that meant the adventure wasn't over yet. He was about to close the e-mail when a rider at the bottom of the message got his attention. “Villain.net is not responsible for injury, damage, or death to either the End User (yourself) or others (victims) due to utilizing online powers. Any criminal use will be approved and endorsed on condition that Villain.net receives a ten percent commission from all monetary gains.”

Jake went back on the Web site in the hope that he could still download the powers and experiment with them on his own. A message in the center of the screen read “SERVICE RUNNING” and prevented him from clicking any of the options. Jake was disappointed. How long would he have to wait to experience that power again?

He shut down the computer and crossed to his window. Outside it was a gloriously chilly day. He glanced at the mirror on his wall, which was almost concealed by stickers and postcards he'd amassed, and ran a hand across his face. He did seem a little paler than usual.

Jake decided he should get something to eat and then
maybe find his gang around town. At least that would give him something to do rather than just sit and wait.

The week slowly crawled by without any word from Basilisk. Jake began to obsessively check his e-mail. His elation at finding a new message was shattered when it turned out to be from Big Tony, with a short abusive paragraph, which Big Tony had no doubt found hilarious when he wrote it.

One day, out of curiosity, Jake typed “Basilisk” into a search engine and chose one of the first of the two and a half million hits, which was a link to Wikipedia. The entry explained that the basilisk was a mythical creature whose gaze could kill. Jake wondered if Basilisk had named himself or if it was a nickname given by others.

Jake longed to tell his friends about his experience, but knew they would accuse him of lying, and no doubt it would all end in a fight. Another side of Jake whispered selfish thoughts: this was a gift for
him
, not them.

His ambivalence toward the gang must have started showing. Scuffer pulled Jake aside to have a whispered conversation as they walked back from yet another knuckleheaded expedition to a street corner.

“You feelin' all right?” Scuffer asked, his eyes constantly twitching as though he couldn't focus on one thing.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I know this sounds a bit … weird … you know, but you're lookin' white like a ghost. Not turnin' into a Goth, are ya?”

“Just not sleeping enough,” Jake replied casually. But in fact he had noticed that. His face was normally pink and healthy, but dark bags had slowly appeared under his eyes even though he had slept longer than usual.

“And you don't seem to be havin' fun no more.”

Jake glanced at him, and concealed a smile. Could it be that this band of roughneck thugs was actually worried that their faithful leader was losing interest in them?

“You know how it is. I've just been thinking about things. That's all.”

“Like what?”

“Just stuff,” Jake replied, deliberately ambiguous. From the corner of his eyes he saw Scuffer glance at him, but he didn't say anything else.

By Thursday, Jake had decided not to meet his friends at their regular rendezvous and sent them a text message to cancel. He was sure they would react aggressively and he turned off his phone so he couldn't receive the barrage of replies from the three of them. Besides, he had something else to think about. After checking his e-mail for what must have been the tenth time that morning,
he had received one simple message from Villain.net. Just two words: “SERVICES REQUIRED.”

Jake waited in his room for further instructions. Outside, the fine day had become stormy. Torrential rain pelted the windows and lightning forked overhead. Jake watched the light show from his window. He loved thunderstorms, in direct contrast to his sister, who was always frightened by them and preferred to hide in her closet until they passed.

He suddenly became aware that somebody was standing just beyond the toolshed at the bottom of the garden, hidden by the trees. Another flash of lightning did little to illuminate the figure. But Jake was sure he knew who it was.

“Basilisk!” Jake grabbed his scuffed black leather jacket from the floor, and climbed out of the window. He ran across the waterlogged lawn, and the figure moved farther back into the trees that separated Jake's yard from a field.

Jake pushed away the branches, and then saw the SkyKar on the edge of the field. Basilisk, sitting inside, motioned him over. Jake was delighted and sprinted to the vehicle.

“Quickly, we have much to do,” Basilisk said with a sense of urgency. Jake saw him scrutinize a monitor showing a radar display of what he presumed was the immediate area.

“Good to see you too,” Jake said with heavy sarcasm. This time he buckled himself firmly in the seat as the gull-wing doors closed on them with a pressurized hiss.

The SkyKar lifted from the ground and shot off toward the clouds as lightning flared again.

A damp figure watched from the trees. He'd managed to attract Jake's attention when he had seen him at his bedroom window, and had been planning on leaping out to frighten him.

Only when Jake had run past did he notice the strange vehicle sitting in the field. He'd watched Jake climb in and stood with an open mouth as the craft vanished into the clouds.

Scuffer gawked at the sky in amazement, only blinking when the rain stung his eyes. What had Jake gotten himself involved in?

The SkyKar shook as it passed through the turbulent clouds, forcing Jake to grip the door to brace himself. Rain spattered across the windshield. Jake flinched when he saw a finger of lightning poke from the black clouds above and strike the SkyKar.

“Watch out!” he screamed as he shut his eyes. He could still see the lightning afterimage temporarily burned on his retina.

“It's okay, we're not grounded,” explained Basilisk.
“Lightning strikes airplanes all the time, and harmlessly passes through until it hits the ground.”

Jake looked through a break in the clouds, down at the houses below him, and wondered what the lightning had struck after it had been diverted by the SkyKar. He believed he could see a set of telephone wires flare up as lightning struck them, the electricity channeling toward a house that had a large oak tree in the yard. Someone probably just had their phones blown out, and their modem too if they had a computer.

He was shoved back into his seat as the SkyKar jolted. They passed through more clouds and then emerged into suddenly clear blue skies. They must be high, as from here he could just make out the gentle curvature of the earth below him. It gave him a slightly sick feeling, like looking through a goldfish bowl.

“I thought I would've heard from you sooner,” said Jake, uncomfortably aware that he sounded as reproachful as his mother could when he was in trouble.

“I've been busy,” snapped Basilisk. He glanced in Jake's direction, and Jake wondered what lay inside the blackness of the cowl. “It turned out you did not tie up our loose ends in India, and decided to leave some witnesses.”

Jake felt butterflies in his stomach, but he managed to keep his face blank. Lying was a superpower of his very own. “They must have escaped. I was sure I locked the door.”

“Whatever happened, it brought the attention of a sneaky superhero who thought he could stop me.”

“What happened to him?”

“Ashes to ashes,” Basilisk said laconically. Jake shuddered, remembering how Basilisk's gaze had crumpled the scientist to dust. “But there are more on their way. One of whom has a personal vendetta against me.”

“Vendetta?”

“I killed his sidekick in a previous encounter. It seems he was rather attached to her.”

Jake looked out of the window and saw they were already over the sea. He tried not to think about what had happened, but the question was already on his lips. “Why did you kill her?”

“If she had wanted to live, all she had to do was stop meddling. Very few people, even with superpowers, can survive having a bomb strapped to them.”

At that precise moment an alarm sounded in the cockpit.

“Missile lock,” warned a smooth voice from the console.

Basilisk jinked the SkyKar to port so suddenly that Jake's head banged against the side window.

“What's happening?” said Jake—but as soon as he asked, the entire SkyKar shook as a military jet fighter shot overhead, its afterburners spluttering out as it circled around. Jake had no idea what type of aircraft it was, but it looked deadly.

“Enforcers!”

“Who?”

“They're like an international antisuperpower police unit.”

“How did they know where we'd be?”

“They've been on our tail since your failure in India. The witnesses recognized your voice and ID'd us. They probably picked up the SkyKar's radar signature as I entered their airspace.”

“Unidentified aircraft,” crackled a voice over the SkyKar's radio. “You are in restricted airspace. Turn away from your current flight path and follow us.”

Jake noticed another sleek aircraft to their side, the copilot waving his hand to signal they should land. “Can we outrun them?”

Basilisk keyed something on his computer. Seconds later the HUD showed schematics of the aircraft that were intercepting them. Typhoon fighters, more commonly known as the Eurofighter: one of the most advanced fighting planes in the skies.

“We can, but the SkyKar picks up speed gradually. So while we can outrun them eventually, we can't accelerate fast enough to do it. They'll blow us out of the sky.”

The other Typhoon had now circled around to fly on the far side of the SkyKar. Jake looked between the two aircraft, both brimming with weapons.