Council of Evil (11 page)

He felt a sudden streak of terror turn his stomach. His parents watched the report, failing to make the connection with the image on the screen and their son. But Jake was certain that they would any minute.

The anchorman continued to inform the public that the suspect was wanted for
both
the kidnapping and the bank robbery.

“Police consider him armed and dangerous,” the newscaster said directly to the camera. Jake felt the man's accusing gaze was boring into him. “Do not approach him, and if you have any information that may lead to his arrest, contact the police as soon as possible. There is a reward.”

The telephone rang. Jake's eyes shot to it, but his limbs refused to move. His mother leaned across and picked it up.

“Hello?” she said.

Jake knew this was the moment his parents would discover his secret. The moment his newfound chance in life would slip from his grasp.

But his mother shrieked with laughter down the telephone. It was one of her work friends calling with gossip.

Jake bolted from the room and took refuge in his bed with a growing sense of dread. He kept away from everybody on Sunday and avoided the television and any news Web sites. He regularly checked his e-mail, but there was nothing from Basilisk.

“It's not fair,” he thought, being dependent on the villain. Basilisk had already lied to him about side effects, so what else would he do? Jake just didn't trust him.

He could hardly believe that he was looking forward to returning to school the next day. Anything to derail his obsessive thoughts.

Jake tensed when he walked past Patel's newsstand and saw a display with the
New York Times
headline on it, and the blown-up picture of him in the SkyKar. He was now Public Enemy Number One. Jake studied the picture and decided with relief that maybe identifying him wasn't so easy.

Feeling a little more reassured he walked through the school gates. As usual everybody cleared from his path, but this time he was thankful for it. Rain had been falling hard since he woke up, and the air was unseasonably warm. His mother had been rambling on about the crazy weather all morning. He didn't mind getting wet though, as the clouds blocked the sunlight, and his skin didn't tingle as badly.

He almost walked past his gang, who had the Professor pinned against a wall, threatening him. Jake had to laugh. It seemed they were getting interference from another kid, who Jake knew was Lorna's brother, Toby. Toby was somebody Jake always left alone because of
Lorna. It wouldn't look good beating up the brother of a girl he liked. Scuffer looked over and waved, but Jake kept on walking.

“Jake!”

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Lorna struggling to enter a classroom, her arms filled with books. Her usual bright smile faltered when she saw his face.

“You okay?” she asked.

Jake bit back a snappy reply. She was somebody he wanted to keep as a friend, so instead he gallantly opened the door for her. “I'm just feeling a bit run down. Haven't been sleeping much.” Well, at least
that
was true.

Lorna was grateful for the assistance and hesitated as she entered the classroom. “Thanks. I heard about you saving Mr. Falconer. That was a very brave thing to do, especially after what he did to you.” She blushed and looked away.

Jake didn't know what to say. If Lorna knew about Mr. Falconer, then the whole school would definitely be talking about it.

“You'll have to tell me about it,” she continued. “You know. After school some time?”

Her cheeks were burning now and she glanced behind him. “Your fan club's here. See you around.” She slipped into the classroom, and the door swung
shut as Jake felt Knuckles's big hands slap him on the shoulders so hard his knees buckled.

“Hey, Hunter, what's up?”

Jake's thoughts jumbled in his head. One minute he was worrying about being a wanted man, and now he was trying to figure out if he'd just been asked out on a date. He could deal with the notoriety, but girls were uncharted territory. He pulled himself together; Lorna was another item on the growing list of things he didn't want his friends knowing about.

“Knucks. Hey, guys.”

Scuffer walked alongside him; never one to make direct eye contact, he looked even more shifty than usual. “Where've you been all week?”

“I have the worst luck. As soon as we're not in school, I get ill.”

“Is that right?” mumbled Scuffer.

“You look sick,” Big Tony said with a trace of concern. “I'm not going to get it, am I? Don't wanna lose my appetite.”

“No chance,” thought Jake, but tactfully remained silent.

“Is that all?” pressed Scuffer.

Jake paused; his companions walked several steps onward before they noticed he had stopped. A few days away from his friends made him realize what a dull life they led and how much better it had been
without their constant dares and immature behavior. Maybe Jake was finally growing up. But he was suspicious of Scuffer's tone. “What do you mean?”

Scuffer gave a forced, humourless smile. “Nothin.' Just meant: is that all? You didn't get up to anythin' else? You know, flyin' around … with your family or somethin'?”

Jake narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized his friends. The three of them looked in every direction except his. The school bell rang, breaking the tension.

“Later,” Jake said bluntly before he turned and walked away.

Out of earshot, Scuffer confided to the others. “See, he's actin' weird. I told ya, but you don't believe me.
Swear
I saw him get into some sort of flying thingy the other night. Somethin' strange is going on!”

Knuckles laughed. “We heard you before, and you're still mental.”

“I don't understand,” said Big Tony. “If you think he's an alien, why is he in school?”

Knuckles broke into laughter. “Yeah, Scuff. You're just losing it.”

Scuffer winced as they laughed, his cheeks burning red from embarrassment. He hated being the butt of any joke, and he was certain about what he'd seen. There was something strange going on with Jake Hunter, and he was going to find out exactly what it was.

* * *

Jake was on edge all morning, convinced that a teacher or student was going to single him out and accuse him of the kidnapping. But nothing was mentioned. His fear was then overshadowed by his sudden heroic status as word got around that
he
had saved Mr. Falconer. Of course a parallel rumor circulated that
he
had been the cause of the blaze. As the gossip took on a life of its own, Jake noticed people staring at him from whispered huddles, but with looks of curiosity rather than fear. It was as if he had become a celebrity. He wouldn't admit it, but he had a feeling that he would enjoy being famous.

Or infamous.

Later in computer class, Jake reluctantly started the assignment he'd been given, to research how a small local business could grow through e-commerce, when a thought struck him. Basilisk had mentioned that he was originally from Canberra, Australia. Jake tried to remember what he said he'd been called. His fingers drummed the desk as he searched his memory, and when he glanced up he caught Scuffer quickly looking away. Jake angled his monitor so Scuffer couldn't see. His friend tried not to react, but Jake couldn't help but notice the scowl across his face.

Baker
, that was it.
Scott Baker
. Jake typed the name and location into Google along with any other keywords
that would help him find information: ARMY, ACCIDENT.

The search engine churned through its immense database in a fraction of a second and returned over a hundred thousand hits. Only one successfully matched all of his keywords “Scott Baker Army Accident.” Jake clicked on it.

A scanned newspaper article from the
Canberra Times
showed a picture of a young soldier, in full army uniform. The headline read: LOCAL HERO KILLED IN FREAK ACCIDENT. Jake read more, but the details were sketchy: apparently it had to do with an army supply tanker flipping off the road; the soldier had been crushed underneath. It wasn't of much use to Jake.

“Killed?” murmured Jake. “Something's not right here.”

Checking to be sure the teacher was not standing behind him, Jake went back to Google and typed in the keywords “Basilisk supervillain,” and hit the enter key. Moments later a handful of hits came up, but they were old news stories with headlines along the lines of: SPATE OF TERRORIST ATTACKS BY MASKED VIGILANTE NAMED BASILISK. The accompanying stories didn't offer much in the way of detail, other than to say the crimes were still unsolved.

Jake was about to close the original article when something caught his attention: its date. Something about that
date was bothering him. He used the browser's “back” button to return to the Scott Baker story. His eye was immediately drawn to the date imprinted at the bottom of the article—Baker died two years
after
the articles mentioning the masked villain Basilisk.

Basilisk was around long before the accident in Australia. The supervillain had lied to Jake again.

Jake knew about identity theft, when one person uses the name and address of another, effectively stealing their identity in order to extort money from credit cards and bank accounts. That's why his father insisted they shred everything before throwing it out. Is that what Basilisk was after when he took the name of a dead man?

Jake stabbed the mouse button to clear the articles from the screen. He was feeling betrayed, although part of him couldn't quite see why. After all, Basilisk was a supervillain—he was
supposed
to lie. But that small betrayal hurt Jake more than he liked to admit.

Jake looked around the classroom and saw a new kid was staring at him. Had he seen what Jake was doing? Jake was getting increasingly paranoid. Even if the boy had seen, it wouldn't mean anything to him. If Jake wasn't careful, then he would be jumping at his own shadow next.

The lunch bell freed Jake from the class, and he was surprised to notice Scuffer disappearing into the crowd without saying a word. That was a welcome relief, as
Jake didn't feel like conversation right now, he had too much on his mind. Instead of crossing the schoolyard, Jake chose to head for the cafeteria through the network of corridors within the main school building. Nobody ever went that way. It kept him out of the way of gossipers and finger-pointers.

With both students and teachers gone, Jake's footsteps echoed down the long corridor, which was lined with bulletin boards, posters, and half-open classroom doors. The building was old; the white plaster ceiling was heavy with cracks and flickering fluorescent lights.

“Hey, you!” called a voice from behind.

Jake stopped and turned. At the end of the passage stood the new kid from computer class. He was much smaller than Jake, hugged an armful of books defensively, and wore an oddly blank expression.

“What do you want, shorty?” Jake said brusquely. Although he was small, the boy had given Jake pause. Even people who knew him well would normally think twice before calling out to him.

Maybe he wanted an autograph?

The boy started walking fearlessly toward him. “You're Jake Hunter.”

It was a statement rather than a question. Jake felt his hackles rise and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. In his pocket he felt his phone vibrate, no doubt Big Tony and the others trying to track him down.

“Who wants to know?” Jake asked, as the kid got closer.

“So, you're Basilisk's latest sidekick?”

At the mention of the name, Jake felt his blood run cold. Then he remembered that the kid had been sitting next to him while he had been searching the Web. That's probably where he got the name.

“Get lost, shrimp,” Jake said, turning his back on the kid.

“Oh, I don't think so, Hunter.”

Jake stopped in his tracks. The voice had changed into something gruffer and then he heard the books clatter to the floor. His mobile kept silently vibrating in his pocket as he took a deep breath and turned.

The kid was growing taller and thinner. His shirt merged with his body as his torso narrowed and extended. His arms and legs grew longer. Small curved talons poked from elongating fingers. His sneakers became broad reptile feet. The boy's fleshy skin turned mottled and scaly, and his head transformed into something out of a nightmare—saurian, with broad black eyes and a fat swollen tongue that flicked from his mouth. In a matter of seconds, the boy had turned into a six-foot-tall spindly reptile creature hunched forward on two legs, a thin tail snaking out to balance him.

Jake took a step back, his eyes wide. “What the hell are you?”

The lizard-man replied in a voice that sounded as if it had been dragged across sandpaper. “As if you don't know! They call me the Chameleon, and like you I possess certain …”—the tongue lashed out—” … gifts. And I'm here for you!” Chameleon pointed a slender clawed finger.

“Wait a minute,” said Jake, raising his hands and trying to conjure an escape route. “I think we're on the same side.”

Chameleon let out a hoarse laugh. “Same side? You mistake my appearance, Hunter. I'm one of the good guys! Both you and Basilisk have led me in a merry dance. I even had to buddy up with the Enforcers to track you down. And they're not a particularly hygienic bunch.”

“How did you find me?” Jake gasped. It was a pointless question, but he was playing for time as he glanced around the corridor for something he could use as a weapon.

“The scientists in India gave us a pretty good description, blondie. Basilisk we knew of already. He'd left his calling card, the petrified bodies and dust. Your new friend is very ruthless. He even blew apart my partner when we sabotaged his last plan.” Jake's expression must have given away his surprise. “Oh, don't you know? We go a long way back, to when he kidnapped the president's daughter. You should have picked your
company more carefully, Hunter. I've sworn to bring Basilisk down, and since you have helped him, I'll bring you down too.