As his subject droned on about the details surrounding Stanley’s adoptive father, Jax marveled at the colonel’s transformation. Rather than reluctance to give up HoWaRD’s number-two mind-bender, all Jax saw was pure happiness that the young orphan had found such an ideal home. Jax was especially amazed that the normally impatient Brassmeyer had taken the time and effort to research the Fergusons to make sure that Stanley was bound for the best possible situation that any child could hope for.
The colonel went on and on about the specifics of the adoption, painting such a vivid picture that a memory began to seep through the link, reforming itself as a diorama in Jax’s mind. It was the courtroom on the day of the hearing. Everyone was smiling — the judge, the lawyers, the social workers. Jax couldn’t see Brassmeyer, since the memory was through his eyes. But he could feel the man’s happiness and serenity.
Stanley was smiling, too, if a little nervously, as he headed off to his new life with his new dad.
The courtroom and its inhabitants faded out as Jax focused in on Mr. Ferguson. He was tall, with a shock of dark hair, a hawklike nose, and black, black eyes under striking brows.
He was Dr. Elias Mako.
The office tilted and went a little gray for a moment. Jax slipped off the edge of the desk and was lucky to find his chair. Otherwise, he would have had to pick himself up off the floor, and he couldn’t be sure that enough strength remained in his arms and legs to accomplish that.
Brassmeyer’s PIP flickered, and Jax struggled back onto the desktop to maintain eye contact. The last thing he needed was for the colonel to come back to himself now — before he’d been commanded to forget all this.
“In a moment, you’re going to wake up,” Jax told his subject, “but not before you hear your office door click shut. I wasn’t here. No one was here. You were alone the whole time, and you’re not mad at me at all, not about anything.”
He fled, grateful that the colonel’s aide had not returned. Jax didn’t stop running as he left the building and started across the post toward home.
Mako! The plot was so insane that Jax could barely wrap his mind around it to connect the far-flung dots. No wonder a crab like Brassmeyer was so giddy with happiness over Stanley’s “adoption.” No wonder he’d given up an important asset without an argument. He’d been hypnotized by the master. He could just as easily have been made to believe that Fort Calhoun was a cheerleading camp and, as soon as he found his pom-poms, he was going out there to lead the Green Berets in their new human pyramid. Mako was just that good.
The colonel had been right about one thing, though. The army would never be crazy enough to try a global Aurora. That kind of evil took a madman like Mako.
Somehow — through Wilson? — Mako must have found out about Stanley and his growing powers. He realized Jax would never cooperate with him again. But now there was a new rising star, an Arcanov, even younger and more easily manipulated. Knowing Stanley was an orphan, all Mako had to do was impersonate a long-lost relative. Anybody who asked questions — like Colonel Brassmeyer, or a lawyer, or a judge — could simply be bent.
It all made sense! Mako, who had nurtured Jax’s talent for remote hypnotism, had coaxed the same ability out of Stanley. And his terrible plan had come straight from the army’s own playbook for Operation Aurora — with a twist.
This new Aurora would not be restricted to an isolated, controlled environment like Delta Prime. Anybody anywhere could suddenly stop dead at the appointed hour on October 24 — pilots flying planeloads of passengers, engineers running nuclear power stations, presidents and prime ministers charged with the safety of entire nations, mountain climbers leading expeditions on high peaks. Trains, buses, and cars would careen out of control, fires would start and spread, vital infrastructure would be destroyed. Those unaffected by the post-hypnotic suggestion would be in a panic. Even those who remained calm would be powerless to save the rest as roads clogged and cities ground to a halt. The casualties would be unimaginable.
And Mako alone would control the trigger word that could put a stop to it. Even Jax, who knew what was going on, didn’t dare risk trying to glimpse what Stanley held in his hand in the hypnotic message. It was classic Mako — as brilliant as it was twisted.
He entered their cottage breathless and sweat-soaked. Dad was still playing Lawn Master. There was no question that Stanley’s message had reached him countless times. Probably Mom, too, just by living in the same house and having nothing to do but fiddle with the computer. This would be far more than a tragedy involving nameless, faceless strangers. This had found his own parents in their tiny corner of the world.
At that moment, he felt the absence of Axel Braintree as a raw open wound. Axel would know what to do. He had devoted his life to fighting the unethical use of hypnotic power — whether it was one of his sandmen bending a hot-dog vendor for a free lunch or Mako trying to rig a presidential election. Axel had seen through Mako and opposed him right from the start.
But Axel’s gone. I’m the only one who knows Mako’s plans.
Who could he tell? Brassmeyer? The colonel had already dismissed the recording as a hoax. And not even hypnotism could convince him that Stanley was in the hands of an evil man — not after Brassmeyer had been bent by Mako first. Pedroia? He’d have to go through the colonel, chain of command and all that. The police? He’d be starting at square one, trying to convince them that such hypnotism even existed.
He ran into his room and threw himself down on the bed. What about a second video clip? He could record it himself, try to override Stanley’s post-hypnotic suggestion. Hypnotism didn’t usually work that way, but shouldn’t he at least try?
With a sinking heart, he realized that wasn’t an option either. Even if he could craft the perfect mesmeric message, how would he distribute it? Stanley’s video was all over a website with two billion users. Jax could never hope to reach even a tiny fraction of that — not with the clock ticking down.
There was no way for Jax to stop this global meltdown. Despite the combined power of Opus and Sparks, he would be nothing but a spectator for the coming horror show. Everybody in the world would be — except Mako and his adopted “son,” Stanley.
An awful thought struck Jax. What hypnotic blowback must that eight-year-old kid be suffering? The seven hundred fifty-three inhabitants of little Delta Prime had put Jax flat on his back. What must it be like to get the mental backwash of the entire world? Could poor Stanley stand upright, walk, talk, think? Was he even alive? Certainly Elias Mako wouldn’t think twice about sacrificing the life of a child in order to achieve his hideous goals.
Jax set his jaw, suddenly sure of his only possible course of action. He would find Mako and Stanley and force them to stop this looming catastrophe.
Instantly, a laundry list of reasons why this was impossible appeared in Jax’s mind. He would have to sneak away from Fort Calhoun and abandon his parents. He was looking for someone who was probably in hiding, and he had absolutely no idea where. He’d have to hypnotize Mako, something he had never been able to do before. He wasn’t even sure that he could handle Stanley, who was the only hypnotist alive besides Mako who had succeeded in bending Jax.
He shook his head to clear it. If he’d had any choice other than sitting around waiting for the world to end, he would have jumped at it.
But there was no other choice. He had to go, and he had to go now.
The question remained: Where would you look for somebody if you had absolutely no idea where to start?
Thanks to the escape from prison, Mako’s trail had gone cold. The last place it could be picked up was at his Sentia Institute in Jax’s hometown.
New York City.
“Dad.” Jax shook his father’s shoulder gently. “I need you to wake up for a second.”
Ashton Opus rolled over in bed. “What time is it?”
Jax switched on the small lamp on the nightstand. “It’s after one. Can you see me?”
With great effor
t, Dad forced his eyes open, blinking away sleep. “What is it, kid? Something wrong?”
Jax waited for his father to focus on him, and then said, “Nothing is wrong…. Everything is fine…. You are very relaxed….”
The picture-in-picture image appeared, blurry from interrupted sleep, yet otherwise strong — himself, leaning over the bed, his eyes blazing deep amethyst. He regretted bending Mom and Dad after he’d promised not to, but it was for their own good.
Besides, there was so much to be regretted these days that a little bonus hypnotism was the least of their worries.
“You’ll be asleep again in just a minute,” Jax went on soothingly. “When you wake up in the morning, I’ll be gone. But you have to ignore whatever you hear about me. Remember only this: I’m fine. There’s no reason for you and Mom to come looking for me. Stay here at Fort Calhoun and let the army continue to protect you. That’s the most important thing.”
With a heavy heart, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and past his mother, who had fallen asleep in front of the TV. Five minutes before, he had given her the same mesmeric pep talk, and she had promised not to worry. She would, of course; they both would. But there was nothing Jax could do about that. It was one of the limitations of hypnotism. You could order someone to change a lightbulb or bake cookies. But you couldn’t tell them how they were going to feel about it. He had blazed a trail in their minds that would lead them to conclude that he was okay. But there was no way he could command them to follow it when everything in their hearts told them the opposite.
And anyway, why should they believe him when he didn’t even believe himself? He had instructed his parents not to worry, but in reality, he had no idea if he would ever lay eyes on them again.
He hefted his backpack, appalled by how light it was. He was walking away from his entire life with nothing but a cell phone and a single change of clothing. He had a grand total of thirty dollars and forty-four cents, which he knew wouldn’t take him very far. His only other asset was his color-changing eyes, which he knew could get him anywhere he wanted to go.
An army post like Fort Calhoun was never completely deserted, even at one thirty in the morning. Soon, a Jeep sidled up.
“I’ll need to see some ID, soldier,” called a uniformed MP. A flashlight beam played over Jax. “Whoa, isn’t this a little past your bedtime, kid?” He peered into Jax’s downcast face.
It was a mistake. Jax raised his head to turn his eyes on the corporal, and the man was lost.
“Look into my eyes,” Jax commanded when the PIP appeared. “Now train your light on my collar. Two shiny stars gleam back at you.”
“General!” The corporal snapped a salute, bobbling and dropping his flashlight. It hit the floor of the Jeep and went out. “I’m sorry, sir. We weren’t told —”
“Uh — at ease, son.” It was the rare case when a military order might actually be stronger than a hypnotic one. In the army, a general trumped everything and everybody.
“I need you to drive me to the bus station in Lawton,” Jax went on. He would get to New York more quickly by air, but military planes were tracked, and airports were crowded places. Jax couldn’t depend on being able to bend so many people at the same time.
The bus, then. At any given time, there were thousands of buses on the move around the country, and nobody kept track of who was on them. Getting to New York the slow way was better than running the risk that he wouldn’t get there at all.
“Hop in, General,” the MP invited.
At the main gate, the sentry leaned out of the booth. “Who’s your passenger?”
“I’m just taking the general into Lawton,” came the reply.
“The general?” The sentry gaped at the twelve-year-old in the other seat.
Jax caught the sentry’s eyes with a single scorching stare. “You will let us pass, and forget you ever saw us or this Jeep…. It’s a quiet night, and nobody’s been through this gate for hours.”
When the barrier lifted, he turned to his driver. “Let’s get a move on, son. I’m not getting any younger.”
As they roared down the road, Jax peered over his shoulder at the sleeping Fort Calhoun. He’d never wanted to go there, had hated pretty much everything about the place. But right then it seemed like the closest thing he had to a home.
Ahead lay only uncertainty.
In Fort Calhoun’s motor pool, Staff Sergeant Chen frowned at the clock. All the MPs on the first night watch had checked in — all but Corporal Gordon. Where was he? The shift had ended almost an hour ago! He’d been hailing him via walkie-talkie for the past twenty minutes. If Gordon was dodging his calls …
He picked up the phone and dialed the gatehouse. “It’s Chen in the motor pool. What time did Corporal Gordon pass there?”
“He didn’t,” droned the reply. “It’s a quiet night, and nobody’s passed through this gate for hours.”
Chen had no way of knowing that the sentry was responding to a hypnotic command, yet something in his tone of voice didn’t seem right to the experienced motor-pool chief. He jumped in a Jeep and retraced the MP’s route around the post. He saw the personnel from the second shift. But there was no sign of Gordon and his vehicle.
Dumb kid was probably asleep in a grove of trees somewhere off the beaten path. But just in case …
He took out his cell phone and dialed a number. “I’ve got a possible code two-four, missing Jeep.” As an afterthought, he added, “And a missing MP with it.” As the motor-pool chief, only the vehicle was his responsibility, but it couldn’t hurt to mention Gordon, too.
The alert would establish roadblocks along the major routes in and out of Fort Calhoun. It was probably a false alarm, but he had to follow protocol. At least it would teach Gordon a lesson about turning in his Jeep on schedule.
Corporal Gordon was making excellent time because the general had authorized him to exceed the speed limit.
About thirty miles east of Fort Calhoun, they rounded a bend and came up behind a long line of stopped cars and trucks.
A traffic jam? Jax thought in dismay. At two in the morning?
He spied the red-and-blue flashers of police cruisers. Silhouetted against the headlights, officers in broad-brimmed hats peered into windows.
A roadblock!
“Kill your headlights!” he rasped urgently.
“Sir?” queried the corporal.
“Do it now!” Jax looked around urgently. To their right, a wall of cornstalks rose just beyond the highway. “Drive into that field. That’s an order!”
Gordon wrenched the steering wheel. They left the road, hurtled over the ditch, and plowed into the tall stalks. On they jounced, totally blind, the corn plants swinging back and battering them as the Jeep smashed its way through.
“Stop!” Jax commanded, almost smothered.
Gordon slammed on the brakes and the vehicle shuddered to a halt in the shelter of the plants.
“What now, General?” the MP asked breathlessly.
“I’m thinking!” Jax took stock of his situation. If they went forward, they’d be caught and dragged back to Brassmeyer. But turning around wasn’t an option either. To find an alternate route on these tiny rural highways would be virtually impossible — and there was no guarantee that there weren’t roadblocks on all of them.
He turned to Gordon, who was sitting passively in the driver’s seat, awaiting instructions. In spite of everything else, Jax felt a wave of guilt. This young MP was AWOL with army property, thirty miles away from where he was supposed to be. All on the orders of a general who didn’t really exist. The guy was in big trouble, and it was Jax’s fault.
“Listen carefully, soldier, and do exactly what I tell you. Turn this Jeep around, and drive straight back to Fort Calhoun. When they stop you at the gate, tell them you have a message, but you can only give it to Colonel Brassmeyer. Here’s the message: ‘Jackson Opus says hi.’ ” It wasn’t an in-your-face to the colonel. Brassmeyer was the only senior officer on the pos
t who would understand that the young MP had been hypnotized, and was not at fault.
Jax jumped out of the Jeep to stand amid the corn.
Gordon regarded him in concern. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, sir?”
Jax allowed himself a hint of a smile. “Don’t worry. We generals are — um — always okay.”
The corporal snapped a salute that Jax returned. The Jeep wheeled around, bulldozed a path through the corn, and thumped back onto the pavement.
Jax backtracked toward the highway, but remained hidden among the high plants. He began to bushwhack parallel to the road. Soon he’d reached the end of the line of stopped vehicles — mostly trucks at this late hour. Up ahead, two state troopers were shining flashlights into windshields. Seeds of a new plan took hold in Jax’s mind. The bus station in Lawton was out. But these were big rigs carrying cargo all across the country. Surely in all that rolling stock there had to be a place for one twelve-year-old to hide.
Peering out from between two stalks, he made sure the troopers’ attention was focused elsewhere. The coast was clear.
Jax leaped the ditch and dashed to the back of an eighteen-wheel rig. He jumped onto the steel step and grabbed the latch to open the double doors.
Oh, no! Locked!
Heart pounding faster now, he scampered along the side of the trailer up to the truck ahead of it. This one had a single roll-up door. The padlock was roughly the size of his head.
Panicking a little, he tried to picture the length of the queue. He was still pretty far back, but sooner or later, someone was bound to notice a crazed kid dashing from semi to semi.
Third from the back was a green trailer marked FREIGHT UNLIMITED. His heart sank. Another padlock. But wait — the long silver hasp wasn’t completely closed. Jackpot!
He raised the door just high enough that he could roll himself inside. When the gate rattled shut behind him, the blackness was absolutely total. He couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face.