Galilee Rising (20 page)

"Did you get that?" I ask Harry.

"We found one at city hall. It's set to go off in twenty-five minutes. They're working on it now."

"No!" Jem shouts. "There could be half a dozen anti-tamper devices or false switches. He'll have back-ups for his back-ups. I've already found two on this one. He knows your techniques and thought processes. Tell them to wait for me. I'll finish here and get to the hall as fast as I can."

"We're not waiting--"

"Captain O'Hara, I know how this man thinks! He wants you to try. They had to re-build the President Wayne Memorial and two bomb techs lost their lives because they underestimated him. Order them to wait!" He bobs his head to indicate that I should hang up. I do. His full attention returns to the problem at hand.

"Do you really think there's a bomb at Pendergast?"

He's quiet as he places clips to bypass wires, then says, "Yes. They need to evacuate."

"They're already doing it. It's company policy to evacuate after a terrorist attack. This qualifies." I watch him work for a whole thirty seconds before I can't hold in my question anymore. "This is all for you, isn't it? It's a test for you, to get your attention."

Silence, then, "Yes." He yanks a wire out and throws it aside.

I pause this time as I decide if I should ask the real question. Like I could ever stop myself. "He's your brother, isn't he? Jordan?" For the first time, Jem stops working and looks at me, mouth slack. "You both have the same, exact smile and voice."

"Oh." Jem returns to work, slowly starting up. "After Uma, I went looking for him. Scowered the globe, but he…" He shakes his head. "It was a fool's errand. If my brother doesn't want to be found, he won't be. After a year, I gave up. I took a post in Independence but something had changed. I couldn't sleep, I barely ate, the bitterness and frustration were eating me alive.

"Then one night, it had to be three in the morning, I was walking the streets as I often did when I came across a pimp beating a prostitute in an alley. For a second I thought about continuing on. Then she noticed me, met my eyes, and blind rage overtook me. I beat the man within an inch of his life. But…for the first time in over a year I felt as if I could breathe again. So I went out the next night, then the one after that. While I was out patrolling, I felt close to content. Then one night I was almost arrested, so I commissioned a suit. Became 'The Nightingale' after my favorite Keats poem. A few months after that, we formed the Triumvirate and the work really began."

"Then Jordan resurfaced."

"Yes. Because I was happy," he says, words dripping with venom, "or as close as I ever could be. I had moved on, found a measure of peace, and he couldn't bear that. I was respected, and he had to tear me down. Destroying a city and killing over a hundred people were just, as he said, collateral damage. He was actually upset I was helping people as I was. It was exactly what our father had wanted, why he tortured us for years. Made us train, pushed us over our limits. 'How could I?' my brother asked." Jem scoffs. "It was another betrayal. We'd sworn we'd never use our not so God given gifts if we could help it. Just because we were made to be freaks didn't mean that would be our fate. He acted as if I had spit in his face. I had to be taught a lesson."

"He sounds like a fucking psychopath," I say.

"That's what nine out of ten of out psychiatrists said," he says, snipping a wire. "I'm just so sorry for all this. I thought he--" He shakes his head and cuts another wire. "This shouldn't have happened."

"It's not your fault."

He quickly glimpses at me. "Yes…it is." He takes a deep breath, wipes his sweaty brow and continues working. "I think I've almost finished. You should leave now."

"I told you twelve times I'm not going anywhere."

"Joanna--"

"If you're here, I'm here. End of discussion."

"Don't be so damn--"

"I am not leaving you!" I shout. "
I'm not
. So save your damn breath."

His mouth sets straight. "The-The problem is there are two wires I can cut, and I don't know which is the correct one. Look."

I move over beside him. In the tangle of wires, I view a white and black wire inside a second timer. Both are positioned exactly the same. "Oh."

"You have less than five minutes to clear the building.
Please go
."

And for a second I do consider the option. Running away and leaving him in this dark basement with a bomb to potentially die alone attempting to save thousands of lives. But I can't. The thought of losing him too…nope. I'd rather die. "Choose," I say.

"What?"

"Do it. I'm right here."

His eyes search mine for something. I just smile. "If I'm wrong, I'm killing hundreds still in the building," he whispers.

I cover his hand holding the clippers with mine. "Then we'll do it together. It's on both of us. Choose."

"But--"

"Just…trust."

He glances down at my hand on his, then back at my smiling face. The fear vanishes into the ether. With his free hand, Jem grabs the back of my neck and pulls my mouth hungrily against his. Our lips are so in line, it's as if they're made for one another. As we devour each other, I run my hand through his soft, thick curls like I've been wanting to since we first met a year ago. A kiss to die for.

He draws away first, completely breathless from the need. We just stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds before grinning in unison. "Sorry," he says, "I just didn't want to leave this earth without doing that at least once."

"I know exactly how you feel," I say before going back for seconds. It's a little softer this time but just as wonderful. I can die a happy girl right now. I'd rather not, but still.

We break apart a few seconds later and look at the bomb in unison. As me move our entwined hands toward it, the oddest sensation washes over me. I've never felt it before. Serenity. Faith. I know, I
know
that we're going to be okay. That this is not the end. Not by a long shot. We aren't dying today. Don't know how I know, but I do. I rest my head on Jem's shoulder as his free arm wraps around me, pulling me in close. We position the clippers on the black wire, and I take the other handle. "Ready?" he asks. I nod. "On three. One…two…" I bury my face into the crook of his neck, and he squeezes me even tighter.
Oh please, oh please…
"Three."

Snip.

Nothing happens. At least I think nothing happens because this close to the bomb I wouldn't feel a thing if it exploded. But I'm breathing and Jem's fingers are digging into my side hard enough I'll bruise, and I doubt heaven or even hell stinks like a boiler room, so I'm pretty sure we're alive. I open my eyes and stare at the bomb. The counter's stopped. The bomb's intact. We did it. Never had a doubt.

I gaze up at Jem, who peers from the counter to me, mouth agape with shock. I burst into laughter, nervous at first but joyous a second later. He catches the bug instantly. We just laugh and laugh as he kisses my hair and down my cheeks to my mouth. This kiss is swift but just as yummy. The man sure can smooch. The laughter subsides as the mirth drains from his face. There's something on mine that almost startles him now, even more so than even the bomb. He draws away as if I was the one about the explode.

"I shouldn't-I-I have to go." He leaps up and begins to walk away. He's quickly out of view, but a second later he rounds the corner again. "Wait outside for the bomb squad. Please show them down here, then go straight home. Lock all the doors, and don't leave until I or one of the others arrive. Don't let
anyone
else in."

"Jem--"

"Joanna, please! Just do this for me. Please," he begs, not hiding his desperation.

"Okay," I say with a nod.

"I'll be by when I can. Be careful."

And he leaves me alone in the dark beside a bomb, my lips tingling from his touch, without another word. I shake my head. Supermen.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Post Mortem

The bomb squad arrives minutes later. Two minutes longer than the bomb would have allowed them. Jem saved the hospital and no one will ever know. A crying shame. I escort the squad to the bomb then return upstairs to help the overwhelmed hospital staff in the parking lot and river walk where they've set-up a makeshift M.A.S.H. unit. Despite the evacuation, patients stream in from the smoldering bridge, which still crumbles into the river as fire crews try to control the blaze and continue rescue efforts. With the patients from inside, the ones from the bridge, and those injured from the flying glass, it's bedlam. I've had first-aid training so I make myself useful bandaging and ordering people around. As I channel Florence Nightingale, no pun intended, once or twice Liberty and Tempest fly in with someone from the bridge, but if they see me they don't let on. They dump their cargo and zoom off to save more. As time passes, and there are no more explosions, I assume Jem is successful with the other bombs. I'll chalk that down as a victory.

It's dark by the time I drag my exhausted, bloodstained body home. Pendergast Bridge had ceased smoldering but lost a hundred feet of road and probably won't be usable for a minimum of over a year. Long way home from here on in. I take a quick shower, toss on some sweats, and literally run down to the command center. Tempest and Liberty, both still splattered in dust and blood, are already typing away on Doris. Liberty sits in front of the computer where an image of Cain from the transmission fills the screen. "I told you, I don't know how to do that!" Liberty shouts to her hovering husband.

"Do what?" I ask as I walk down.

Both turn and seem relieved to see me. "Jesus Christ, there you are. We were getting worried," Liberty says.

"They needed help at the hospital. Jem's not back yet?"

"Not yet. He--" Tempest realizes his mistake. "What?"

"He
told
you?" Liberty asks, mouth agape.

"No, I figured it out weeks ago, Lexie."

She and her husband exchange an uncomfortable glance. "But--"

"I think we have more pressing concerns right now. Get up." She does, and I plop in the computer chair. "What are you trying to do?"

"Analyze the background noise in case we can hear his accomplice," Tempest says. I pull up the program and fine tune it. "How much do you know?"

"Most." I shake my head. "There's too much ambient noise from the boilers to isolate it. Sorry." I spin in the chair to face them. "Have you spoken to the police? Have they lifted any prints from the camera?"

"No, and they're still processing all the prints on and around the bomb," Liberty says.

"Jem's will be on the one from the hospital. He wasn't wearing gloves."

"Shit," Tempest says. "That fucking…" He groans. "That'd be all we need."

"I'll take care of it." I sigh. "I think we should tell the police who Cain really is. Get his picture out there, his name."

"GFPD have all his past aliases, of which I'm sure are useless as he's using a new one now," Tempest says. "He also disguises himself in public. We've been through this three times before. And there are other considerations. It'd put Jem Ambrose on their radar. He'd be placed under surveillance, or worse. He could be exposed."

"Trust us, we've had this debate a dozen times before," Liberty adds. "Jem's our best hope of finding the prick. He can't do that if he's being followed. We'll only pull that pin if we have no other option."

"Fine. So what do we do now?"

"All we have at present are the bombs and this broadcast," Tempest says. "He hacked into BNN's signal like before. The man he used last time is serving five years in prison, so he must have found someone else. I already pulled a list from the database. If you can track them down, we can cull the list. We know it was filmed in the boiler room but when? He left the camera for a reason, though."

"Jem took a tape out of it," I say. "I don't know what was on it."

The duo exchanges an angry look, and Tempest shakes his head. "Did he now?"

I don't like his tone, and the last thing we need is antipathy amongst ourselves. "Maybe we'll get a print off it. I don't know that much about Cain. Would he make his own bombs?"

"Yeah," Tempest answers. "And we're still no closer to finding who helped him steal the explosives from the military base, assuming the two are related."

"Like anyone doubts they are," Liberty says. "And that trail's cold."

"What else do we have?" I ask. "Does he have known accomplices in town?"

"Not that we're aware of," Tempest says.

"We have nothing. Nothing! Twenty people are dead and we have nothing!" Liberty all but shouts. "Not a fucking thing, as usual!" Her eyes grow wide. "You! You bastard!"

Tempest and I spin around as Liberty stalks toward the beach entrance. Nightingale stands in full regalia staring at his oncoming pissed friend. When I lock eyes on him, a giant weight lifts. Since he left, in my few spare moments, I've been playing out a hundred scenarios where heinous events had befallen him. I suppress the urge to race over to him and throw my arms around him. Liberty beats me to him anyway. "You son of a bitch! You lied to us! You said he was dead. You told us you saw him die!" she screams as she shoves him.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't do it," Nightingale says. "I couldn't watch. I left him unconscious on that plane seconds before it crashed into the ocean. He couldn't have survived."

"That's what you said the last time too," she spits out. "We could have been hunting him down all this time! How the hell are we supposed to trust you if you keep lying to us?"

"I'm sorry," is all he can muster.

"Fuck your sorry," Liberty says as she turns around to walk away. A moment later she spins toward him again. "Oh, and thanks for telling your fucking girlfriend who we all are, even though I
distinctly
remember multiple conversations where we asked you not to!"

"He didn't tell me," I say.

Her gaze whips to me. "Excuse me if I find that a tad hard to believe from Justin Pendergast's best friend," she says with a sneer.