He didn’t even look in the bag. Tossing the magazine aside, he leaned back in his chair and spread his legs. “The banks are all closed, and money isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. The only currency we accept is…” He counted off with his fingers. “Bullets. Liquor. Drugs. And ass. I can’t let this much food go for less than three jugs of liquor or five boxes of bullets.” His tongue darted in and out of his mouth. “And I’m guessing you aren’t hiding liquor or bullets under that coat of yours. So, unless you have drugs…”
“I don’t.”
He shrugged and showed his palms. “Then you’re lucky you have a nice ass. Spend a few minutes with me and each of my men, and I’ll call it even.”
Her eyes narrowed. She could dump a frangible round into his skull before he could blink. But then she would be forced to kill the rest of his men, and she wasn’t sure if they were all as twisted as he was. And maybe the pig sitting in front of her was just pressing his luck. This was bartering, after all. If she was going to kill them, she wanted to make sure she at least tried to talk her way out, first.
She cleared her throat. “I should have introduced myself. I’m Special Agent Janson. I’m with a Department of Defense counter-terrorism taskforce. I’m on my way to the Pentagon to help hunt down the bastards who bombed Chicago.”
The story had worked more than a dozen times to get her through law enforcement checkpoints, but she had never tried it against armed thugs. She untied the belt cinching shut her trench coat, exposing her pistols and metamaterial armor. “I’m not trying to take anything more than I need, and if you help me, you’ll be part of the fight against the monsters who dropped a nuclear bomb on American soil.”
The man leaned forward and chewed on his tongue. After a long moment, he said, “Take off your glasses.”
Janson’s heart quickened, and her feet slid apart on their own, moving into a fighting stance. “Why?”
He reached into his waistband and drew .45 caliber pistol. “Take them off.”
The door swung open, and the men with the rifles walked in. The rifles were no longer slung over their shoulders—they were aimed at Janson’s head.
“I don’t like repeating myself.” The man shifted his bulk and rose from his chair. “Take them off.”
Reluctantly, Janson obeyed. She removed the sunglasses, revealing her pitch-black eyes.
“I’ll be damned,” the man whispered. He brought a handheld radio to his lips and keyed it up. “Checkpoint four, this is Ned. I have that woman you told me about.”
After a pause, an uncertain voice replied. “Where did you see her?”
Ned smiled. “Got her detained at the gas station.”
“Detained? How?”
“Holding her at gunpoint. Take your time getting here. Me and the boys are going to have some fun.”
“Don’t do anything stupid. We’re on our way.”
Ned clipped the radio onto his belt and stepped close enough for Janson to smell his rancid breath. “The Wardens have taken a special interest in you, doll. But, since we’re their deputies, they won’t care if we sample the goods before they get here.”
Janson frowned. “The Wardens?”
“That’s right. They’re in charge around here now. And they picked us to manage this gas station personally.” He unbuttoned his jeans. “They told us to watch for you. And they let us do whatever we want. We’re kings now. All of us.” He pressed the pistol against her temple. “So get on your knees.”
A detailed set of instructions traveled along Elizabeth Janson’s artificial nervous system. Her muscles contracted, shifting her hips to move her head away from the gun and swinging her left arm up. Instead of grabbing the pistol, she gripped his forearm and gave a sharp tug.
His skin tore in a jagged line; tendons and ligaments popped loose, and his arm split apart at the elbow. And before the man’s brain could sense the pain, she drew her weapon and put a bullet between his eyes.
These men were amateurs—standing too close together to put up a meaningful resistance. The men with the rifles had done nothing but widen their eyes. Janson drew her second pistol, took aim, and killed both of them at once.
The last man dropped his shotgun and took a step back. He let out a gurgling sound as Janson grabbed him by his neck and slammed him into the floor.
“Who are the Wardens?” she growled. “Cops? Homeland Security?”
The man shook his head and clawed at the hand around his throat.
“Who are they?” She loosened her grip enough to let him speak but kept him pinned down.
“Evil.” He took a ragged breath. “They’re evil.” A tear beaded up in his eye and rolled toward his ear. “Please, don’t kill me. I—I didn’t do what they said. I didn’t want to go with Ned. But I was afraid.”
Janson opened her mouth to ask another question, then stopped short. She turned her ear to the whistle of a diesel engine—the familiar sound of an armored personnel carrier.
She let go of the man and kicked his shotgun away. He stayed on the ground, rubbing his neck and moaning in pain. Janson scooped up the bag of food and moved to the rear of the building, searching for an emergency exit.
There was the screech of brakes as the Wardens arrived. Without a moment of hesitation, someone began firing a machine gun. Then an automatic grenade launcher began to thump, and the entire gas station erupted into a ball of flames.
13
Sochi, Russia
The waves lapped against the shore, gliding up the slope and losing momentum a few inches away from Emily’s booted feet. The man she loved was holding her hand, her unborn child was healthy and strong in her womb, and everything was as it should be.
She took a deep breath and savored the salty air. It had been weeks since she had last left the hilltop dacha, and the freedom was invigorating. She threw her head back and cast a smile toward the heavens. Somewhere up there, spy satellites were looking down on her. Their telescopic lenses would photograph her face, and a supercomputer would run algorithms to measure the distances between her eyes, the angle of her chin, the point of her nose, and the width of her forehead. She would be identified as Emily Roberts—a woman who betrayed the United States Government and ascended to the throne of the most powerful terrorist organization in history. Alerts would chime on computers, tablets, and phones all throughout the civilized world, informing military leaders of her current position. And then…nothing. There would be no jet fighters scrambled or drones launched. There would be no snipers positioned on the cliffs or CIA assassins waiting for her when she returned home. Nothing would happen because she was in control.
“A pleasant feeling, isn’t it?” Borya murmured. “Knowing we are completely free.”
She squeezed his hand. “Yes, it is.” She wasn’t unsettled by his ability to predict her thoughts, she was flattered. Every day their minds were becoming more and more alike. With every kiss, every touch, every moment of passionate intimacy, they exchanged millions of nanomachines and portions of their own consciousnesses. Emperor and Empress were becoming something more—a deity with one mind in two bodies.