Storm of Lightning (31 page)

June 27 (about six weeks earlier) Geneva, Switzerland

G
iacomo Schema very nearly knocked a half dozen people over as he frantically ran out the front door of the Bank of Geneva. Once outside he froze in the middle of the crowded sidewalk while other people, people who didn't have a price on their heads, passed him from both directions. He had no idea where he was running to. The direction he chose could mean the difference between life and death, but since he had no way of knowing which was which, his survival was no more than a toss of a coin.

At the moment, there were no Elgen in sight, which Schema knew didn't mean anything. He knew better than anyone that just because you didn't see the Elgen guards, it didn't mean they weren't there. Or, at least, watching. This he had learned the hard way.

He had only a few hundred euro in his coat pocket, and his credit cards were now worthless. They were worse than worthless; they were dangerous. Using them would lead the Elgen right to him.

He'd started running in the direction of the traffic, when a car honked. A black Mercedes pulled up to the curb, and the passenger-side window lowered, revealing the driver. It was the same driver who had picked him up from the airport and brought him to the meeting.

“Mr. Schema!” the driver shouted through the window. “Do you need a ride?”

“Yes!” Schema shouted back. He jumped into the front seat of the car, then shouted, “Go, go, go!”

“Yes, sir.” The driver pulled out into the heavy traffic.

Schema took his phone from his coat pocket and threw it out the window.

The driver watched curiously. “Is something wrong?”

“Something is
very
wrong.”

“Shall I take you back to the Geneva hotel?”

“No, they'll be waiting for me. I need to get out of the country.” Schema turned and looked out the window. “Take Route de Malagnou south to E712 to E25.”

“And where are we going, sir?”

“Turin.”

“Italy, sir?”

“Yes. It's about two hundred fifty kilometers from here. How fast can you get there?”

“If I drive fast, we can be there in three hours.”

“Then drive fast. Don't stop for anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

The driver's cell phone rang. As he reached for it, Schema said, “Don't answer it.”

“But it's my boss.”

“We can't take chances. I'll see that you are well rewarded for your service.”

“As you wish,” the driver said.

Once they were out of the city, Schema started to relax. As far as he could tell, no one was following them. For the moment, at least, he was safe.

“Do you have children?” he asked the driver.

“Children? No, sir. Do you?”

“Three. And a grandson. I was married a long time ago. I haven't seen any of them for many years.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, sir. They must miss you.”

Schema looked out the window. “I don't think they miss me.”

The driver glanced over. “I'm sorry to hear that, too.”

*  *  *

A half hour later, as the car sped along the autobahn into the countryside, the vehicle started to lurch.

“What's happening?” Schema asked.

“I don't know,” the driver said. “A malfunction.”

“Are you out of petrol?”

“No, sir. I'm sure it's nothing. I just need to get off the autobahn. I'll only be a minute.” The driver took the next exit into the small town of Cluses, France. He pulled the car off the road onto a gravel strip and stopped. He got out and lifted the hood, then got back inside. “It might be a while.”

“We can't wait here,” Schema said. “They might be following. We need to get another car. We need to get out of here.”

The driver suddenly pulled out a gun, leveling it at Schema's chest. “No, Schema. This is as far as you go.”

“Are you mad? What are you doing?”

“This is where I'm meeting my associates to pick you up. As you know, Admiral-General Hatch offered a reward for you, dead or alive. It's more if you're alive, but if you're trouble, I'm not greedy. A million dollars is still plenty to share. Now put your hands behind your head.”

Schema shuddered. “Whatever Hatch is offering, I'll double it.”

“You have nothing to double it with,” he said. “I know what has happened. You're penniless.”

“That will change.”

“Perhaps,” the driver said. “Perhaps. The Americans have a saying—a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. You're in hand.”

“I'm offering you more money than you can comprehend. I'll give you ten million euro if you help me escape.”

The driver just smiled. “Admiral-General Hatch has signed your death warrant. Your life isn't worth fifty cents. But your body's worth at least a million dollars. And should I betray him, there will be a bounty on my head. Then we'll both be dead.”

“There's got to be something we can negotiate.”

“No, sir. I have completed my negotiations. Now put your forehead against the dashboard and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Just then a dark blue van pulled off the exit and stopped beside them.

Schema panicked. “Please,” he said. “I'll give you whatever you want. Tell your friends I'll make you all wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. I just need time.”

“These aren't my people,” the driver said, looking suddenly anxious.

A teenage girl got out of the car and walked toward the driver. She was pretty, with cropped blond hair.

He lowered his gun. “If you say anything, I'll shoot you.”

“Excusez-moi, monsieur. Parlez-vous anglais?”

“Yes, miss,” the driver said. “I speak English.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, smiling. “My French sucks.” She looked at them curiously. “Are you having car troubles?”

“We are fine, thank you. The auto club is on its way. What do you need?”

“Unfortunately, we seem to be a little lost. Is this the right road for Milan?”

“For a little way more. You need to get back on the highway; then you must go east at Ivrea.”

“Ivrea?”

“Yes. It is about one hundred sixty kilometers.”

“Thank you very much.
Merci.
” She started to turn away, then turned back. “I'm sorry, just one more question.”

“Yes, miss,” the driver said, trying to hide his annoyance.

“What were you planning to do with Chairman Schema?”

Suddenly the driver felt his muscles tense up and freeze. He was completely paralyzed. He looked at the young woman fearfully. “What are you doing to me?”

She smiled. “It's just a little something I do.” She turned back to the van and shouted, “Come on, boys. Let's get this done.”

Two large men climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward the Mercedes. Both men were muscular; the driver was tall and the other stout. The shorter of the two took the gun from the driver, then took his phone, opened it, removed the battery, and tossed it into the bushes.

“Take Schema,” the girl said.

The other man opened the passenger-side door. Schema, who was also paralyzed, watched in fear. “Who are you?” he asked the young woman.

“My name is Cassy,” she said.

“How much do you want?”

Her delicate brow fell. “How much of what do I want?”

“Money.”

Cassy laughed. “Seriously, you're trying to bribe me? You're confused.”

“Are you Elgen?”

“No. Are you?”

Schema hesitated. “I used to be.”

“So I've heard.”

The two men lifted Schema and carried him over to their van, then dropped him in the back. Cassy reached out and took Schema's wallet.

“What are you doing with that?” Schema asked.

“You won't need it anymore. You no longer exist.”

Cassy, followed by the shorter man, walked back over to the car and tossed the wallet inside the car next to the driver. Then the man lay a stainless-steel metal canister in the backseat of the Mercedes.

“What is that?” the driver asked. “What did you put back there?”

“Don't worry yourself with that,” Cassy said. “In fact, all of your worries will soon be over.
Au revoir.
” She looked at him. “No, wait, it's
adieu
. We won't be seeing you again. I told you my French sucks.” She walked back to the van. “Let's get out of here.”

The driver of the Mercedes cursed as the van drove away. Fortunately, his paralysis was slowly wearing off, and he could start to move his fingers, then his hands. “Finally,” he said, lifting himself up. He looked out to make sure the van was really gone; then he heard a sharp click.

“Qu'est-ce . . .”

The metal canister exploded, blowing the car to oblivion.

“Y
ou said your name was Cassy, but who are you really?” Schema asked again.

“I told you,” Cassy said, slipping a dark sack over his head.

“Who are you with?”

“I'm with you.” She laughed. “Sorry, just messing with you. We're with the resistance.”

“The resistance,” Schema said slowly. “You mean Michael Vey?”

“You know Michael Vey?”

“We've met.”

“Then you have one on me. I haven't met him yet. But I'm looking forward to it someday. In the electric human world, he's a rock star. I hear he can deflect bullets.”

“You're part of the same organization.”

“Not really. Michael's not really a company man, if you know what I mean.”

“I don't,” Schema said bluntly. “Could you please free me? I have an itch.”

“For a minute. But don't touch your hood. And if you try anything to get away, I'll not only paralyze your body, I'll paralyze your lungs and let you suffocate.”

“I won't try anything,” Schema said.

“Good decision,” she said.

Schema groaned out as she released her power. Cassy watched him carefully, then said, “So, like I was saying, Michael's like a free agent, you know? We don't control him or his friends. They're helping us, I assume, because it's the right thing to do. Or maybe because he doesn't like you. Either way he's on our side. And that's a good thing.”

Schema was quiet a moment. “He doesn't like me, or he doesn't like the Elgen?”

Cassy shrugged. “Is there a difference?”

“There's a big difference.”

“Anyway, he freed you from the
Ampere
, so it must not be you.”

“Is this hood really necessary?”

“Yes, it is,” Cassy said. “So, you got me thinking. You're kind of like Dr. Frankenstein, aren't you? You created a monster, and it turned on you.”

“It wasn't my creation that turned on me. It was Hatch.”

“Weren't you Hatch's boss?”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly.

“My point.”

Just then a phone rang, and the man in the passenger seat answered.

“Yes, we have him. Yes, sir. We'll be there.” He put the phone back into his pocket and turned to Cassy. “He wants us to bring Schema directly to him.”

Cassy turned back to Schema. “This is your lucky day,” she said. “He rarely, rarely sees anyone. And you're about to meet him.”

Schema swallowed with fear. “Who are you talking about?”

“Our leader,” Cassy said. “We just call him the voice.”

T
he van arrived in the Italian town of Turin in less than ninety minutes. They drove to a small, private airstrip, boarded a private jet, and flew for two hours. Schema wore the hood the entire way.

“Why can't I take this off?” he asked.

“Quit whining,” Cassy said. “You're a smart guy. You look out the window, you might recognize where we are going. You don't get it off until we reach our final destination, so get comfortable.”