Council of Evil (16 page)

Except now Jake was missing.

He gaped at the picture. Somebody had removed him completely. He knew a good computer art program could do that, but seeing the effect firsthand was chilling. Jake felt numb and his throat was suddenly dry. He gave his family one last look before he ran into the kitchen to gulp down a glass of water. The doorbell rang and he heard Beth leap from her seat.

“Pizza!”

Jake wiped away the sweat that had suddenly formed on his forehead. Chameleon must be responsible for this. Him, the Enforcers, whoever—they were all the same. The so-called goodies were now the bad guys in Jake's book. He glanced around the kitchen and was surprised to see a half-finished meal on the table. Steam drifted from the plates indicating that it was still warm.

Jake frowned. Why had they ordered pizza?

The heavy boots from the hallway told him everything he needed to know. The Enforcers had arrived. It must be more mind control. Jake was sure that his family would be as blind to the heavily armed soldiers as they were to him.

Jake ran for the back door; the key was usually in the lock but his fingers grasped empty air. He glanced behind to see two Enforcers push an oblivious Beth against the wall and sprint toward him, rifles gripped with both hands. Luckily the hall was too narrow to allow their bulky frames to wield the weapons.

Basilisk had told Jake that his body couldn't handle any more powers so soon after the last batch, so at that moment he was completely defenseless. Jake didn't hesitate—he grabbed a kitchen chair and smashed it through the glass panels on the back door, then vaulted through the splintered wooden door frame.

He hit the grass and rolled in shards of broken glass, which cut deep into his legs and arms. No sooner had he pulled himself to his feet than the back door blew apart under heavy gunfire, the high-caliber rounds shredding what was left of the solid wood.

Jake was halfway across the yard by the time an Enforcer had booted his way out and fired into the darkness. Jake heard the shots whiz through the air close by. He must have cut himself badly, as he was
beginning to feel light-headed—then he fell as his legs suddenly gave under him.

He was unconscious before he hit the muddy lawn.

Television stations around the globe received the transmission almost simultaneously. They all had strict instructions on what to do in the event of receiving terrorist demands. The channel controllers contacted their governments, ensuring the broadcast did not leak out and startle the general population.

Forty minutes after the broadcast had been received, world leaders had been plucked from their duties—the German chancellor from an economic press conference; the Australian prime minister from a tour of a local school; the British prime minister from a rowdy session in the House of Commons; and the president of the United States from the golf course. With their assembled chiefs of staff, they watched the transmission. The voice had been digitally dropped an octave and the face was pixilated into tiny blocks that constantly shifted like a swarm of choreographed bees, to form different faces.

“People of the world, I carry a demand that must be met within twenty-four hours. By now your Secret Service departments will be aware of the Core Probe stolen from the Indian Institute of Advanced Technology. A machine that was designed to penetrate down to
the earth's core. The Probe is now armed with a ten-megaton nuclear warhead, which will be detonated at the center of the earth.”

Across the world, behind closed doors, an outcry went up at these words. The figure continued.

“Should this explode, it will shift the earth off its axis, causing wild tidal shifts and irreversible weather patterns that will radically change the world's environment, and destroy your rich economies. You have the power to prevent this. This transmission includes digitally encoded bank details for depositing two billion dollars.”

Again, more muttering around the globe, all commenting on the typical greed-driven extortion plied by these villains. But the message continued, surprising them all.

“In addition, we demand military assets from various countries. From the United States, their entire fleet of B2 Stealth Bombers. From the United Kingdom, their entire Naval Fleet. From the European Union their fleets of Typhoon Fighters. From …”

The list was extensive and caused a mass furor among the world's leaders. Within minutes, they were on the phones to one another in blind panic. This maniac wasn't simply demanding money; he was piecing together his own massive army, using the best technology the world had to offer—in effect disarming nations and leaving them open to attack by the new rogue army.

Scientists ran figures and soon opinions became divided. Some thought a single nuclear detonation at the earth's core wouldn't do anything, and the warhead would probably melt before it reached its target. Others pointed out that it was an unexplored area of science and there was a danger that any detonation could have an adverse effect on the earth's orbit; a simple demonstration was presented over a video link to world leaders. A spinning gyroscope remained perfectly balanced on a table, but it only took a gentle finger poke, representing a nuclear blast under the earth's mantle, to send it skittering to the floor.

Jake flicked his eyes open, and instantly wished he hadn't. The room's lights appeared to burn intensely, giving him a headache. He was lying down on a hard surface. He squinted and used his hand to shield his eyes.

“Easy” said an unfamiliar voice. Jake slowly opened his eyes. The friendly face of a plump woman was looking at him with concern. “‘Feeling better?”

“Uh, yeah.” Feeling groggy, he pulled himself up. He noticed the ceiling light was made up of several high-intensity bulbs arrayed in a circle, like he'd seen in an operating room when he'd had his appendix removed as a child. Medical equipment was packed into this
room. His fears that the Enforcers had captured him vanished when he noticed the rough carved walls that indicated he was back in Basilisk's subterranean lair.

The villain himself was standing across the room, staring at Jake with his smoldering neon gaze. “Is the boy all right now?”

Jake realized he was wearing just his boxer shorts. He flexed his fingers, noticing that they were unusually pale. But, despite the headache, he was feeling stronger. He noticed a bloodstained metal dish that had been placed on the side. It had several jagged pieces of glass in it. Scabs on his arms and legs had already begun to fade. A cable ran into his arm, linked to a computer.

“He'll be fine,” the doctor said as she studied a computer screen. “Remarkable though. I have never seen a reaction like this before.”

Jake cocked his head. “A reaction to what?”

Before the doctor could open her mouth, Basilisk took a step forward, and dismissed her with a gesture. “That will be all, doctor. Leave us.”

The doctor nodded to Jake and spun on her heels, quickly leaving the chamber. Basilisk began pacing the room.

“Your demand to the world has been delivered, anonymously of course. Our technicians ensured your face was unrecognizable.”

“Great,” Jake said without enthusiasm. He had too
many questions that required answers. “What happened?”

“Chameleon and the Enforcers got to your parents. They suspected you would return, although evidently not so soon or they would have been better prepared. I reached you when you passed out, and we teleported back here.”

“My family … they didn't recognize me at all.”

“There are mind-control powers out there that can be more devastating than an energy bolt or a death ray. Chameleon used another hero to telepathically erase you from your family's mind. So much so that their brains refused to see you or acknowledge your existence. It effectively rendered you invisible to them. I saw what happened in there. All they had to do was incinerate your possessions and digitally remove you from photographs.”

Jake stared at the wall as he put his clothes back on.

“When your sister answered the door, she truly did think it was a pizza delivery. Ours is a world your family will no longer see.”

The memory of his parents' vacant expressions made him feel sick. He had ceased to exist to them. A morbid thought crept into his mind—if they had died, he would never be able to see them again. But this felt
worse
. He could see them … but they had no idea he had ever existed.

It was as if
he
were a ghost. In effect he was now an orphan.

He fought back tears. “Is it reversible?”

“I do not know. There could be terrible repercussions to reversing a memory block. I have heard of people going crazy from such attempts, falling into vegetative states. And to be truly effective, you need the Prime who took the powers to restore them.”

Jake silently vowed revenge. Then what the doctor had said about “reaction” snagged his thoughts. He looked at Basilisk. “I'm having a bad reaction to the superpowers, aren't I?”

Basilisk stopped pacing, and turned his dark cowl on Jake. “I wouldn't use the term ‘bad.' It's most unusual though.”

“Will I be okay?”

“You'll live,” said Basilisk flatly. “Hunter, there is much happening you don't know.”

“And I'm tired of that!” snapped Jake as he stood up. It was only then he noticed the computer he was plugged into was logged on to Villain.net. He yanked the cable from his arm. “So why don't you tell me what this is all about? I've lost my family because of you!”

“It was not I who attacked them, Jake.”

Jake wasn't listening; he was too furious to notice it was the first time Basilisk had used his proper name. “You
made
me do that demand! Why didn't you do it
yourself? And what's with all the military equipment? I thought the goal here was wealth?”

“The goal is
power
. Wealth is the necessary companion to that. And the armies … well, something to negotiate with.”

Jake looked back at the Villain.net screen and frowned as he recalled the conversation he'd overheard between Basilisk and the Council. He pointed at the Web site. “You're not supposed to be using this, are you? The Council has banned you.”

It was Basilisk's body language that showed his surprise. “How did you know that?”

“I overheard,” Jake growled back. For once Basilisk did not intimidate him. He was starting to grasp just how much the villain had been using him. To Jake's surprise Basilisk broke into a deep laugh.

“You truly have a devious mind, Hunter. Spying on me? Excellent. I think it is time you learned about Villain.net and your role in all this.” Basilisk theatrically waved his hand around the room.

“My role? You've used me. This is all a bluff, isn't it, so that you can get back at the Council?”

“You are very special, Jake. You are linked to all this in ways you do not yet understand.”

Jake leveled his gaze at Basilisk. It made him livid that Basilisk was still being evasive.

Jake felt a rush of power ripple through him and it
dawned on him that he
had
powers. They must have downloaded them into him while he was unconscious. Maybe that's why he felt better? If Basilisk didn't start giving him some straight answers, then he would beat them out of him.

“You'd better start telling me,” he said with menace.

“Mr. President?”

The president of the United States looked up from wiping doughnut crumbs from the intelligence report in his hand. His secretary had just entered the Oval Office, wringing her hands nervously. The president licked his fingers clean, then took off his glasses and rubbed his sore eyes. It was late night, or was it early morning? All he knew was that the White House grounds beyond the window were cloaked in darkness.

“Yes?” he said, hoping she was about to offer another pot of coffee. He needed something to keep him going.

“I have an encrypted call from the Enforcers.”

The president sighed. When he took office there had been a childlike side to him that had been looking forward to reading about state secrets the public would never be aware of. He had hoped he would finally discover if the government was keeping hidden files on aliens and a flying saucer in storage somewhere. What he hadn't expected was that a whole branch of the
government was dedicated to working with, and hiding the existence of, superheroes and villains. The global community had decided that the general public didn't need to know such things, so they worked closely with law enforcement agencies across the world to cover up superactivities and disguise them as terrorist threats or the work of common criminals. That made it difficult for any government to work directly against the supervillain threat. That's where the Enforcers came in.

Originally formed by the United Nations, the Enforcers were essentially a secret army, elite soldiers from around the world who ensured supervillains, and some overzealous superheroes, were kept under control. Since the Enforcers were not allowed to have any superpowers themselves, they relied on the very latest technology and assistance from governments, and on superheroes out in the field who were combating crime on a daily basis.

The president didn't like dealing with the Enforcers, partly because they were not under his direct control, and partly because he thought they had too much power. He had been secretly lobbying for greater restrictions on them. He reached for the phone, and gave his secretary a meaningful look.

“I think more coffee would be in order.” His secretary smiled nervously and left quickly. He lifted the receiver to his ear and sat back in his plush leather chair.

“This is the president.”

“Mister President,” said a voice from across the line. It had a gentle Scottish lilt that the President found pleasant to listen to. “We have gathered reliable intelligence on the mastermind behind the new demand and his location. I'm transmitting data to you now.”