The Enlightened (21 page)

“This is all very interesting,” Thomas says. “But it doesn’t tell us where Kyle is.”

“I still haven’t shown you this.” Bert hands us the last printout.

“A conference?” Thomas says. “You think—”

“
The
conference on transformative technologies,” Bert says. “Which, of course, means most of the scientists on that list will be in attendance.”

“You think Kyle will make these mobsters kill the scientists on the list?” Thomas asks, frowning.

“I think Kyle is planning to make it look like a mass shooting to cover up the fact that it’s an assassination,” Bert says. “A person going postal at a science convention raises less questions than a mafia hit, at least in this case. Now that I know about Guides and all that, I suspect some other crazy shootings can be attributed to—”

“Wait,” I say. “No conspiracy theories for the moment. What makes you think that’s what Kyle is planning to do?”

“Well, his usual way of operating is subtle—suicides and the like,” Bert explains. “Kyle makes these deaths look like no Pusher was involved. So he comes up with this plan. That man with the wacky eyes you asked about? He’s what made me suspect this course of action.”

Thomas looks at the paper with the weird-looking guy again. “He was a gym teacher who got fired after being accused of having a relationship with a student. Has a long history of mental illness. Recently purchased a lot of guns. I think Bert is right. Kyle chose this man for a reason.”

“Fine,” I concede. “Maybe there’s something to it. Do you think Kyle would personally supervise this plan? Do you think he’s going to be there?”

“He’s not
going
to be there,” Bert says. “According to his car’s anti-theft GPS system, he’s
already
there. His car was in the Columbia University parking lot when I last tracked him. That’s where the event is taking place.

I look at the conference printout more closely. Then I look at the clock on the dashboard. “Shit. This thing starts in twenty minutes.”

“I’m on it,” Thomas says and starts the car.

“Wait,” I say. “Bert, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” My friend grins. “I did owe you for introducing me to Hillary.”

“We’re almost even.” And that’s being generous. “Unless you two get married. In that case, I get your firstborn.”

“Wait,” Thomas says. “Him and Hillary?”

“Yep. Happy couple and all that. Which brings me to my point. I don’t need you for this next part, Bert.” I look at my friend. “My aunt wouldn’t be too happy with me if something happened to you.”

Bert gives a small sigh of relief, but then he says, “Are you sure, dude? You know I got your back.”

I fight the impulse to chuckle. The image of my small-framed friend taking on a giant mobster is just too much. But I don’t laugh. Bert probably would go with me if I asked, and that means a lot.

“I’m sure,” I tell him instead. “If you’re there, Kyle might take control of your mind and use you against us.”

“You’re right,” Bert says thoughtfully. “I’m still getting used to thinking that way.”

“I know,” I say. “But keep in mind, you’re our insurance in case something very unfortunate happens.”

“I am?” Bert looks surprised.

“Of course,” I say. “If something happens to us, tell Hillary about Kyle. She and Liz—the woman from the hospital—they’ll deal with him.”

“Though it shouldn’t come to that,” Thomas says after seeing Bert’s worried expression.

“Yeah,” I say. “But in case it does, I need another favor. Promise you’ll help my moms relocate somewhere with an electronic trail so invisible that even the witness protection people would envy it.”

“Of course,” Bert says solemnly. “Call me as soon as this thing is over,” he adds with uncharacteristic seriousness and gets out of the car.

“I will,” I say as my friend slams the door shut.

As soon as Bert is on the sidewalk, Thomas slams the gas pedal, and we’re off.

Chapter 20

“I
doubt it’ll work, but I figured I’d at least try to talk you out of this,” Thomas says as he expertly navigates the busy streets of Manhattan. He’s driving fast, but he seems so in control that his driving doesn’t freak me out like Mira’s and Caleb’s. “You know we can get Kyle another day—a day when we have Guide reinforcements.”

“You’d let him murder all those people?” I ask.

“You have a good point,” Thomas says. “But there are other things we can do, like call the police about a bomb threat. Kyle would then have to reconsider his plan. And if he leaves any evidence of what he was planning behind, that would create a strong case against him for the Elders.”

“You still insist we hand him over to these Elders? Even though you don’t know what they’ll do with him?”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t just slap him on the wrist for—”

“No,” I interrupt. “I’m not interested in that. I’m not taking any chances. Kyle will die. Nice and simple.”

Thomas gives me a glance that probably means ‘you’re cold.’

“So what’s the plan?” he asks as he turns onto the highway. “You do have one, right?”

“Not really. At least not an elaborate one,” I admit. “But I’m thinking this: I scout the conference once we get there. Find Kyle in the Quiet. Bring him into the Quiet. Kill him there to make him Inert. Then kill him in the real world.”

“I bet that was also your plan for the police department,” Thomas says, and I shrug.

“It’s a good strategy when dealing with people like us.”

“It is, but the devil’s in the details,” he says as he takes an exit off the highway. “Do you have experience securing a public place such as a conference? Are you sure you can manage to kill a seasoned cop?”

“I don’t have experience in securing anything,” I admit. ”Though I can fight, thanks to my training with Caleb.”

“Still, you must see the wisdom in working with someone who has experience in securing—”

“Someone from the Secret Service, perhaps?” I see where he’s going with this from a mile away. “You don’t need to sell me on you joining this operation. It’s why I called you in the first place.”

“Ah,” he says. “I thought you were so overcome with revenge that you wanted to carry out this mission on your own.”

“No,” I say. “As tempting as it is, I’m not crazy. I’m more interested in the practicality of getting this done.”

“Good. Because if you were to pull a ‘Mira’ on me—”

“I won’t be a liability,” I say grimly.

“Then this has a good chance of succeeding,” Thomas says, turning onto Broadway.

During the rest of the way to Columbia University, Thomas gives me the bare bones of how he’d go about doing what we need to do. As he speaks, I understand how lucky I am to have him with me.

“Do we do the disguise thing first, or the reconnaissance?” I ask once he’s parked the car.

“Recon,” he says. “Pull me in.”

I phase in and bring Thomas in with me. We walk briskly, and I only vaguely register the surrounding campus. I conclude we had much nicer trees at Harvard.

“This could get messy,” Thomas says when we enter our destination, a giant conference hall. “I was hoping there’d be fewer people since the conference hasn’t started yet.”

“The conference keynote speaker must be someone famous.”

“Some guy named Craig Venter, according to your friend’s printout.”

“Some guy?” I say. “That’s
the
synthetic genome guy. No wonder the place is packed.”

“We’ll just have to deal with it,” Thomas says, confidently making his way through the crowd of mannequin-like scientists gathered at the hall’s entrance.

“The two pathways are bad,” he says as he looks around. “We’ll have to cover both of them.” He’s referring to the fact that this hall has three sections of seats broken up by two walkthroughs, like a movie theater. Both paths lead all the way to the large stage. Both have frozen people on their way to their seats and can be used as a way out of the room.

“We’ll have to split up,” I say. “I’ll take the left pathway.”

“Yes, but before we decide which one you’ll take, let’s see where Kyle is. You should take whichever path he’s least likely to use.”

I can’t tell whether Thomas is testing me to see if I’ll go ‘Mira’ on his ass. If I say what I really feel—that Kyle is
mine and that I want to choke him with my bare hands—I have a feeling Thomas will pull out of the mission. So I force myself to nod in agreement, mumbling, “That’s logical, Thomas, sure.”

I follow him as he starts combing through the crowd. As I look at all the innocent people, I’m glad I’m here to stop the slaughter. I was so focused on my revenge that I didn’t think about any other aspect of Kyle’s plan, such as Kyle deciding to cover his tracks with mass murder. I wonder how many shootings in the past were the byproducts of Pushers like Kyle. When we spoke earlier, Bert was about to spout that as his latest conspiracy theory. I should probably listen to my friend’s theories more carefully in the future, since he might well be right about this one. I had never been able to imagine how someone could wake up one day and decide to shoot a group of strangers. It’s just unfathomable to me. Now I’m wondering whether those shooters might’ve been compelled by someone with Guiding powers and a more rational—in a psychopathic kind of way—purpose.

“I located all our suspects and targets—everyone but Kyle,” Thomas says, interrupting my musings. What he says is so incomprehensible that I just stare at him for a second. Could he really be joking at a time like this? He looks completely serious.

“You know where all those people are?” I clarify. “The mafia, the crazy guy who’s going to take the fall, and all the scientists?”

“Yes,” he says and jumps onto the stage. “There, there, and there.”

Even as he points, I have a hard time locating them in the crowd. I’ve never been as impressed with Secret Service training as I am now. Maybe I should do a stint in some elite force, like Thomas and Caleb have. For the first time in my life, such an idea doesn’t sound completely crazy.

“We’ll deal with them after we’ve located our primary target,” Thomas says.

It takes Thomas a few more minutes to find said target.

The painfully familiar figure is standing furtively near the right backstage exit.

I look at Kyle as though it’s the first time I’ve seen him. Here’s a person I want to erase off the face of the planet. The person I’ve known for years, but didn’t know at all. I step toward him.

“Darren, no,” Thomas says. “Remember the plan.”

As he says this, I realize my hands are clenched into fists so tightly that my palms hurt where my nails are digging into them.

Unclenching my hands, I audibly exhale. “Don’t worry. I’ll stick to the plan,” I say, feigning matter-of-factness.

In truth, I’m grateful for Thomas’s reminder. There’s a chance I could’ve done something impulsive, like pull Kyle into the Quiet and start pounding on him. Punching Kyle is something I’m still itching to do, but now that I’m more centered, I resist it. Thomas is right. We need to position ourselves in the conference hall outside of the Quiet before we make Kyle Inert. We need to be close to him, as close as we can get, before we alert the fucker to our presence.

Thomas’s exact quote was: “Our chances of neutralizing him from a close, physical proximity increase as the distance between us and the target decreases.”

In normal-people speak, that means the closer we are to Kyle when he’s Inert, the less chance he has of escaping. Even if we fail to kill him in the Quiet, the closer we are to him in the real world, the better our chances are of catching up with him. Once we pull Kyle in, the element of surprise will be gone, so it makes perfect sense for us to position ourselves as optimally as possible before crossing that line. Despite rationally understanding all of this, part of me still wants his blood
now
—

 
“The hallway behind him is a problem,” Thomas says, interrupting my thoughts. “We need to close it off. It’s the likeliest escape route.”

I nod, and we walk along the hallway. It’s narrow, twisty, and poorly lit. The path widens into a little alcove that has better lighting. I notice an old painting of wine bottles in a heavyset frame. The picture confirms my impression that this whole place feels more like an old, musty wine cellar than something that leads to the stage of a modern-day conference hall. The painting must’ve been left over from the early days when the hall was a theater, or maybe it was someone’s strange idea for an interesting hallway design.

“There,” Thomas says, pointing at the security guard at the end of the hall. “Guide him to exit through that door and lock it.”

Before I Guide the man, I Read him and mentally thank all the stars for the job I have. Had I ended up working as a security guard, I probably would’ve shot myself out of sheer boredom. All the poor guy does is sit or stand in one place for hours.

“Let’s go,” Thomas says when he sees me take my hand away from the security guard.

We make our way past Kyle and back onto the stage. Thomas finds another path that leads to and from the stage on the opposite side from where Kyle is standing. This looks to be the side that the presenters will use. This side also has a winding hallway with another guard standing at the end of it. I block off the exit by Guiding the guard in the same fashion as the other one.

Got to hand it to Thomas. He’s fully aware of his surroundings and always thinking a few steps ahead when it comes to executing the plan.

We return to the stage, and I look around.

“There.” Thomas points to a man wearing a long trench coat. “Let’s start with the patsy.”

I make my way to him and touch the shifty little man on the back of his head. He has a bald spot there, which makes his noggin look like a bowling ball. Before I concentrate on getting inside his mind, I rub the spot in a circular motion.

“For luck,” I say defensively when I catch Thomas’s incredulous look. Then I concentrate and enter a state of Coherence.

* * *

We enter the conference hall and look around. We’re confused. We forget why we came here and even how we got here. This is bad. Lost time. This has never happened before. Maybe it’s the new meds?