The Phoenix Crisis (31 page)

He crawled out of the car and took cover,
heart racing, and immediately scouted for where to go next. Nikolai
followed him out. His left arm was clutched against his chest,
where he was trying to keep it immobilized, and in his right hand
he held his pistol. Between his handgun and Calvin’s, both of them
knew they were heavily outgunned and flight was their only
option.

Fortunately their enemies, all of whom
seemed to be on the opposite side of the street, were focusing on
the other two cars. The middle car was a smoking, burning ruin, and
everyone that had been inside it was dead. Now the passengers in
the front car, bodyguards equipped mostly with small arms, were
fleeing out into the open to escape a second rocket attack—this one
aimed at their vehicle. There was an exchange of gunfire and most
of the bodyguards dropped to the ground. Calvin saw a high-caliber
exit wound rip open one of their heads. Just then the second rocket
struck the lead vehicle and it ignited like the middle car,
throwing flaming debris everywhere.

“
There,” said Nikolai. He
nodded toward an alleyway not far behind them.

Calvin didn’t argue. The two
of them stood up and bolted. Calvin was too afraid to look back. He
breathed hard, feeling panic seize his throat; his heart pounded in
his chest like a machinegun. He forced himself to focus on the
alleyway.
Must get there
!

Somehow Nikolai managed to keep up. As they
turned the corner, Calvin heard the ricochet of gunshots slapping
the pavement and walkway. Peppering where he and Nikolai had just
been. Another deafening explosion told them that the third
car—their car—had just been blown up.

Knowing they weren’t in the clear yet,
Calvin and Nikolai kept running. Not even slowing as they
approached the fence that separated the alley from a cul-de-sac on
the other side. Calvin helped Nikolai up onto the dumpster and from
there the injured man was able to climb over. He dropped to the
ground on the other side and rolled, landing on his injured
shoulder. He yelped in pain but then got to his feet and kept
going. Calvin followed closely behind.

“
Where to?” asked
Calvin.

“
Government building,” said
Nikolai.

The sound of emergency sirens in the
distance, converging on their position, was comforting. All they
had to do was survive a little longer. Calvin felt sick as he ran,
but he didn’t stop or slow down. And most of all he tried not to
think of all the people in his motorcade who’d died protecting him.
Especially his body-double whose only crime had been looking too
much like Calvin.

Chapter 21

“…
it is not known at this
time if the newly appointed Executor of the Empire, Calvin Cross,
was slain in the attack. What we do know is that at least twelve
people have been confirmed killed, and that number seems to be
growing as new reports come in.” A news anchor’s voice could be
heard while the Special Report featured video footage of the
assault on the Executor’s motorcade. It had been recorded by a
witness and was only a few seconds long. On the bottom of the
screen flashed the words,
Warning: Violent
Images. May be Upsetting to Some
.

In trembling hands, the camera recorded the
sight of several men pouring out of a car and exchanging gunfire
with assailants who were out of frame. As they started dropping, a
rocket soared down and crashed into the lead car. There was a
distorted sound of a loud explosion and then the camera about-faced
as its owner raced for safety. The clip looped repeatedly, once in
normal time and once in slow-motion, as the news anchor spoke. Zane
sat on the edge of his seat and listened.

“
Witnesses say the attack
began at exactly three o’clock local time and lasted for only a few
minutes. Police have since shut down the Riverside District, as
well as the Capitol District, and are out in force. When asked if
the attackers were still at large, they refused to comment. This
reporter’s advice is to stay inside tonight, and keep your doors
and windows locked.”

Zane was mesmerized by the
violent images and tuned out the reporter as he watched the
bodyguards drop and the car explode over and over. Brutal but
effective, he supposed. It wasn’t his style to be so ostentatious
and…
obvious,
but
at least they’d gotten the job done.

“
This just
in
,” the reporter said, the energy in his
voice caught Zane’s attention again. “The Executor has survived the
attack. I repeat, the Executor has survived the attack. The Akira
House confirms Mister Cross is safe in an undisclosed location. His
condition is listed as good but there has been no word on possible
injuries. Authorities still believe Executor Cross was the intended
target of the attack, and that his escape is largely thanks to the
use of a look-alike riding in the main car as a decoy. This man,”
the image of a young man who bore a striking resemblance to Calvin
Cross appeared in the corner of the screen, “Ollie Jenson, aged
twenty-six, was hired by the Akira House only days ago. Tragically,
he was one of the many killed in the attack today. He leaves behind
a wife and two daughters. A spokesman for the King has said the
Akira House will make certain—”

Zane switched off the display. After all
that expense and effort, Calvin had survived? Those dumbasses had
reported a successful mission. Zane felt his blood boil. But,
unlike his brother Caerwyn, Zane’s blood boiled cold. And his
expression showed none of the anger he felt. Nor was it detectible
in the tone of his voice as he called his people and told them to
cut the Khan soldiers loose. Let them fend for themselves in the
streets. They were inept. There was nothing connecting them to
Zane, nothing the police or the Office of the Executor would
uncover—even the Khans themselves didn’t know who they were working
for— so there was no danger in letting them take the fall for their
own mistakes. Zane would not protect people who didn’t deserve
protecting.

He cursed inwardly and tried to decide what
to do next. If only Blackmoth could have been persuaded to take the
job. He certainly wouldn’t have been fooled by a decoy. And Calvin
would now be dead and no longer a problem. Oh well… at least
Blackmoth had taken the other job. A lot of people on that list.
But what were numbers to Blackmoth? He could kill everyone on the
planet if his “god” told him to. If only Blackmoth believed that
Zane was his god, things would be so much easier.

***

“
Are you all right?” Kalila
burst into the room, flanked by two of her bodyguards. Calvin
looked up from where he sat on the floor. He’d been staring at
nothing trying to black out the images of the attack from his mind.
Two of his bodyguards were at his sides but not Nikolai, he’d been
taken to the hospital and it felt strange not to have him
around.

“
Yes,” said Calvin
automatically. The screams, and the popping gunfire, and the
glowing rockets followed by the terrible explosions… it wasn’t the
first time that somebody had tried to kill him. But it was the
first time that so many others had died in his place, including a
man whose only job was to look like him.

Kalila approached him and, when she was only
inches away, took his hands in hers. He looked down into her
vibrant, searching eyes. Probably wanting to see for herself that
he was telling the truth—that he was in fact okay. Unfortunately he
wasn’t, not really.

“
Listen to me,” she said.
“We can’t stop now.”

Calvin didn’t say anything.

“
I need you to be strong.
We’re close. I can feel it. But time is running out. We have to
soldier on. Can you do that?” she tested him.

“
Yes,” he said evenly. He
wasn’t about to abandon his efforts to unravel the conspiracy and
save the Empire, but he would be lying if he pretended the attempt
on his life hadn’t rattled him. Such a high-profile attack on
Capital World was unheard of, and he’d been the target. Not the
King. Not a Member of the Assembly.
Him.
And now that so many people had
died for him—racing into the afterlife, or oblivion, or
whatever-the-hell awaited the dead—so that he could persevere, it
would dishonor their sacrifice not to keep going after the Phoenix
Ring. Though Calvin doubted his meager life was worth the price
that’d been paid.
Why me?
He wondered.
Why
me?
Suddenly he felt so inadequate for the
burden that’d been placed upon him. Of all the people in the galaxy
that could be here, it had to be him.

“
Good, I’m glad to hear it,”
said Kalila. Calvin felt her warm hands, still not letting go of
her, and resisted the urge to pull her in to a tight embrace. He
knew it would not be appropriate, so he fought the instinct.
Eventually she let go. “If you need anything, tell me. I’ll see
that you have it immediately.”

Calvin nodded. His mind was still reeling
from the shock of what he’d just experienced, but another part of
him was already trying to disseminate all he could about the attack
and fit this new development into his growing investigation. It
gave him a headache and he wanted nothing more than to lie down
somewhere quiet for a while.

“
I’m going to triple your
security,” said Kalila with fire in her voice. But, at least for
the moment, Calvin didn’t care about his own security. If he’d had
triple the security today then maybe there would have been three
times as many deaths. And for what?

“
I need to lie down,” said
Calvin. “Somewhere quiet.”

“
Of course,” said Kalila.
“My personal escort will see you safely back to your
estate.”

***

She whispered in his ear. It sounded like
the wind. He couldn’t make out the words. Her breath tickled him
and he smiled. He turned over, reaching for her. Wanting to embrace
her warmth.

His hands found something cold and he opened
his eyes. A ghoulish face looked back at him, cold, blue, and dead.
The sunken eyes stared through him and the mouth—a mouth that had
once been so beautiful and inviting—was rotten and decayed. He
lurched back in a start, letting go of the corpse lying beside
him.

“
Why?” the corpse asked him.
It sounded like two voices were speaking. Christine’s and one that
was deeper and darker. “Why did you let this happen to me? Why do
you make me suffer?”

Panic seized him and he rolled backward,
trying to get away. As he fell off the bed, he plunged face-forward
into a swirling abyss. Images flashed by, haunting pictures of men
being shredded by gunfire. Cars exploding. Rockets soaring,
swirling all around him, dozens of rockets. Hundreds of them. All
circling him, in faster and faster orbits, growing in number.

As the tornado of red rockets spinning
swiftly around him became so numerous that he could see nothing
beyond them, they transformed into the glowing red eyes of Remorii.
A haunted horde of them, staring at him, reaching for him, ready to
send him to Christine.

He embraced them. “Do it!” he yelled into
the abyss. “I’m ready!”

A hand parted the sea of Remorii and reached
out for him. He took it, not knowing who it belonged to, but it was
warm and alive and human and welcoming to the touch.

The instant he did, everything changed. The
chaos dissipated and he felt solid ground beneath his feet. He was
now in a bright, almost blindingly white room. It felt clean and…
safe. He looked at the stranger whose hand he held and saw pale
blue eyes and fiery, untamed red hair. She smiled at him. And he
felt peace.

***

Calvin awoke from the dream to find that an
icy sweat had glazed his chest, and his sheets were tangled tightly
all around him, like he was in a spider’s web. He blinked several
times, trying to get his bearings, and then freed himself from the
confining linens. He climbed out of bed and stood. It felt good to
feel his feet touch solid ground, the dizzying feeling of free-fall
had subsided but he still felt light-headed and weak.

His heart beat erratically and waves of
anxiety coursed through him. He stumbled to the far side of the
room and found a water bottle. He wrenched free the cap and drank,
drank like he’d never tasted water before. It eased his parched
throat but did nothing to sooth his upset nerves. He shivered. And
then his eyes spotted the translucent orange bottle sitting on the
nightstand.

There was one way he knew he could forget
the nightmare of the attack on his motorcade, and silence all the
sounds, images, and terrified feelings that swirled within his
mind. He went to the bottle and picked it up, staring at the white
pills inside it. They were of varying sizes, meant to be taken in a
sequence to eliminate his dependence on the chemical, but he knew
two or three of the smaller ones were roughly the right mass for
the dose he craved.

With the bottle of pills in one hand and the
half-empty water bottle in the other, he went to the adjoining
bathroom and locked the door. Only then did he feel safe. Certain
no one was watching him. Of course, he knew, he’d been just as
secure in his private bedroom, but somehow this additional layer of
security made him feel safer.

He set the water bottle on the sink and then
opened the bottle of pills. With trembling hands he dumped out
several of the pills and held them up in the light. He caught a
glimpse of himself in the mirror, bloodshot eyes and stubble on his
face, but he didn’t care. For an instant he saw a glimpse of his
father’s face in his own. But he blinked it away with a shudder. He
wasn’t Samil. And how he looked wasn’t important. He needed to feel
better. At whatever cost.