Relentless (41 page)

Terrific
, Morgan thought from the Common Room.
He’s stuck here.

With us
.

A tremendous commotion came from the hall, where numerous residents seemed to be gathering near the front door. ‘‘Oh, lovely,’’ came Payton’s voice above the din.

Morgan followed his voice to find the front door open. Payton stood at the front of them, looking out over the threshold. Fletcher was next to him.

‘‘What’s going on?’’ she asked, forcing her way through the men and women who were already elbow-to-elbow, looking outside the door.

‘‘You have a visitor,’’ Payton said, not turning around. ‘‘The snitch.’’

Morgan’s eyes drew into narrow slits when she finally made it to the front door.

Hannah stood just outside the door, leaning against the door post. She looked as if she barely had the energy to stand. She was filthy, her eyes were bloodshot, and—covered in sweat but not out of breath—she was probably running a fever.

Morgan had never seen the southern belle like this before.

‘‘What do you want, Hannah?’’ asked Morgan.

‘‘To warn you,’’ Hannah said wearily, struggling to get the words out.

‘‘About what?’’ Morgan replied, unimpressed.

‘‘I’m not . . .’’ Hannah mumbled, trying to remain upright, ‘‘I . . . I don’t
know
, exactly! Somethin’s going to . . . I don’t know
what
, but I overheard . . .’’

‘‘She’s lying,’’ Fletcher started to say, but broke off when Hannah’s eyes rolled up into her head. She began to collapse . . .

In a flash, Payton had dropped his sword and she was resting in his arms. He was already holding her long before the sword ever hit the ground.

‘‘Brilliant,’’ he said, frowning, as he gazed down with disdain at Hannah, unconscious in his arms. He turned to face Morgan. ‘‘What am I supposed to do with
this
?’’

‘‘You’ll think of something,’’ Morgan replied. ‘‘But don’t kill her. Well . . . wouldn’t be the end of the world, but
try
not to kill her.’’

The Corvette pointed south, Grant sped toward L.A. on 395, letting the car almost drive itself. Traffic was light and so Grant’s distracted thoughts didn’t matter much. He was breathing fast, his blood pressure rising.

This . . . none of this . . .

His parents, members of the Secretum? The identity he’d known his entire life, a fabrication?

It
couldn’t
be true.

He’d always assumed that those two words—
grant
and
borrow
— were someone’s idea of a joke, given his current situation.

But no.

Rooting through some papers on the passenger seat, he found military discharge papers dated roughly one month before Julie’s birthday.

Grant began piecing it together . . .

Julie has no idea that the name she uses is not
her
real name,
either, because she’s never been told differently. Once we were living at
the orphanage, all of our official documents had our assumed names on
them, so no one had reason to believe they weren’t real
.

He turned to the file marked ‘‘The Secretum of Six’’ and opened it.

This was the thickest file of all, full of handwritten notes, memos, and official Army documents.

One page was labeled ‘‘Official Enlistment Request Form.’’ It had never been fully completed, but the names ‘‘Frank Boyd’’ and ‘‘Cynthia Boyd’’ were scribbled hastily on top, followed by a brief, handwritten paragraph below:

That was it, then. His parents had been operatives for the Secretum but fled and joined the U.S. military. In exchange for giving the government every piece of information they knew about the Secretum, the Army made them officers.

There never
was
a Collin Boyd. It was only a pseudonym used to protect him from being found by the Secretum. He had perhaps three hours left before he reached the asylum and he knew one thought would dog him that whole time.

My whole life has been one lie built upon another . . .

And what if his father had never left? What if he was a double-agent? Grant couldn’t bend his mind around the reasons the man would disappear. It made no sense.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Another hour and a half in the car only cleared up a few points. He had managed to read through a few more of correspondence and the pieces began slipping together. Grant’s father must have learned of the Secretum’s plans for the Bringer, joined Army Intelligence after defecting, earned their trust—no doubt along with plenty of enemies within the secret order—and spent his time researching the Bringer and how he would be identified.

What a cruel twist of fate that it turned out to be his own son.

Or was it really a twist? Daniel was always saying that there are no coincidences . . .

Grant turned back to the ‘‘Secretum of Six’’ file and rifled through it some more.

A detailed report written by his father stated:

The Secretum of Six is an ancient religious order, dating back several millennia. Shrouded in the utmost secrecy, their beliefs are built upon a stone tablet they call the Dominion Stone. There are conflicting theories on where the Stone came from, but the Secretum claims it is the oldest existing object on earth. The predominant theory is that it was a marker, placed upon some kind of enclave built to protect the Rings of Dominion—a seal meant to lock the away the Rings until the time was right.

It contains a prophecy, regarding an important figure who leverages an event that has not yet come to pass. We have been unable to determine what this future event is, but we know that all of the Secretum’s activities are centered around it. Approximately six hundred years ago, enemies of the Secretum found a way to break the Stone into smaller fragments, and scattered the pieces around the globe. The Secretum seems to have been largely unaffected by losing it, as their scholars had studied and deciphered the writing on it several thousand years ago. Having the Dominion Stone back now would be merely an act of devotion.

A hand-written memo also in the file said,

And Inveo Technologies
, Grant guessed.

Secrets and lies. Speeding toward L.A., Grant felt his pulse hammer in his palms as he gripped the steering wheel. He knew answers to his questions were closeer than ever, but like a mirage shimmering in the mid-day sun on the highway, still of reach. Somebody, soon, would need to answer to him.

When Hannah finally awakened, Payton, joined by the uninvited Fletcher, began trying to pull more information from her. Even Pay-ton’s sword, however, failed to uncover little more than what she’d already offered.

‘‘Something big is in the works,’’ Payton said slowly, never taking his eyes off Hannah. ‘‘You don’t know what it is, but you ‘overheard’ mention of it. That sum it up?’’

Hannah nodded, and took another sip out of the glass she held with both hands. She looked like a caged animal, hoping to be rescued.

‘‘Then tell me
who
you heard it from,’’ Payton said slowly.

She looked down.

‘‘Listen, young lady—’’ Fletcher began sternly, then stopped, as if realizing something. ‘‘It’s obvious who she heard it from. Matthew Drexel.’’

‘‘Drexel . . .’’ Payton uttered, a deadly gleam settling into his eyes. ‘‘I need to borrow a car.’’

‘‘All right,’’ Fletcher replied, suddenly curious. ‘‘Your motorcycle won’t start at all?’’

‘‘No,’’ Payton said absently. ‘‘It was making an odd sound.’’

Fletcher looked far away, the gears in his mind spinning rapidly.

‘‘What
kind
of sound?’’

‘‘Clacking of a loose screw, maybe.’’

Fletcher paused, then his eyes swiveled to Payton’s. ‘‘Could you wait here just one moment?’’ He walked at a brisk pace out of the Common Room and toward the front door.

Morgan stood, alarmed by Fletcher’s sudden exit.

‘‘How much does he know about motorcycles?’’ Payton asked.

‘‘Nothing I’m aware of,’’ Morgan replied.

Fletcher ran back in at a dead sprint and pulled down on an old fire alarm attached to the wall.

‘‘Everybody
out of the building
! Go out the back! Quickly!’’ he yelled.

For a moment, no one moved. They merely stared at him, startled.

‘‘RUN!’’ he bellowed at the top of his lungs. ‘‘
NOW!!
’’

In the Corvette, Grant abruptly gulped in a full breath of air and slammed back into his seat, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. All thoughts of his investigation were gone, replaced by an image that had intruded upon his mind. His eyes squeezed shut so tight, for a long second, the Corvette blasting ahead regardless.

When he opened his eyes again, he was pasty white, clammy, and an unchecked panic radiated from every pore of his body.

They were dying
.

52

Lisa was growing increasingly tense.

Not only tense. She was angry at herself.

Bitter, even.

Daniel had stopped acting normal
days
ago, keeping secrets and telling half-truths. And he was always on that computer.

Something was up.

She’d tried to watch him closely but it’d led nowhere and finally she’d gone to her room, planning to keep tabs on him as best as she could. Maybe if she were out of sight, he might give up a clue. But nothing happened. And her eyes grew heavy.

She didn’t know what woke her up that night, until she heard the whisper of the apartment door close.

Her heart racing in her chest, she dashed out into the living room— noticing the empty computer chair along the way—and looked one-eyed through the peephole in the front door.

Just in the far periphery of her sight, she saw Daniel hobbling onto the elevator.

She had to follow.

Heading into the hall and taking the second elevator, she pushed the button for the ground floor, assuming Daniel, in his condition, wouldn’t be heading to the garage.

The elevator door opened onto an empty lobby. Through the glass front windows, she saw plenty of pedestrians and vehicles; the city was illuminated by multitudes of streetlamps and a flood of evening traffic. But no Daniel. Yet he’d have to have headed outside.

She pushed through the lobby doors and stepped onto the sidewalk. The noise of the city rushed at her. It had been so quiet of late. One sound in particular caught her ear. A crash as if a trash can had been tipped over. It had come from the alley to the side of the building. She crept to the building’s corner and peeked around.

Standing there on his crutches, about forty feet away, was Daniel, speaking forcefully to two very large, very . . .
capable
-looking men, who wore dark leather jackets and skull caps. Most startling of all was that Daniel appeared to be in no danger. Quite the contrary. The men were listening intently to what he was telling them . . . then staring intently at the thick bundles of money he’d placed in each of their hands.

What was going on?

Was he no better than Hannah? Was he something far worse?

No, that was nuts.

Lisa ducked behind a bush just as she spotted the three of them headed her way. She watched as the two bigger men turned and walked away from the building, while Daniel painstakingly hobbled his way back inside.

Devastated, she dragged herself inside and up the stairs to Grant’s apartment instead of her own.

But Grant was still gone, and Daniel hadn’t returned, either, apparently going back to their apartment one floor down. The apartment was empty.

The computer
.

Daniel spent an awful lot of time on Grant’s computer.

She crossed the room and sat down at the desk, flicked on the PC’s monitor, and began digging through hidden system files for a keystroke log.

53

Payton’s first thought when he began to come around was that something was burning in the oven.

And it might’ve been him.

He drunkenly thought back . . .

He had been talking to Fletcher, who panicked about something or other, and then . . .

And then came the blast so loud he’d thought the world itself might have exploded.

Payton finally opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by flames. The asylum was
roaring
, consumed in fire and heat. Horrified screams came from all directions. Unmoving bodies lay about, and smoke was pouring everywhere, running into his eyes and making it hard to breathe.