He didn't move. After a moment, he let go of me and took a step back. The handcuffs were slipped back into a case at his belt, under his Windbreaker.
"Don't screw me," he said. "Because I'm willing to go on a little faith, here. But not much, and not for long. You do anything that makes me doubt you're all in on this--"
"Oh, we're all in," Luis said, and winced a little as he sagged into a chair. He looked tired, and in some pain. "Jesus, how much more 'all in' could we be? I've lost my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece is somewhere out there in the hands of these assholes. We've had half a dozen serious attempts to kill us. You've hurt me, done stuff to her--and we didn't take it out of your ass, man. So shut the hell up, okay?"
Sanders didn't look particularly offended. "Okay," he said. "You want to let Klein up now?"
Luis didn't glance at the other agent, who was still straining to lift himself off of the ground against the increased pull of gravity. "Sure." Suddenly, the agent's arms powered him up from the dirt, and he scrambled to his feet, red-faced and chagrined. He retrieved his gun from the ground, checked it, and holstered it, cheeks still burning, eyes still angry. When he saw me watching him, he recovered his composure and tried to look indifferent to the whole turn of events.
Not very successfully.
Sanders took the chair across from Luis. "Let's say, for argument's sake, that I believe you. What the hell do you want out of me? I've got an FBI team, sure. I've got all the surveillance you could want. I've got eyes in the sky and boots on the ground. You think this place is going to fall to some kind of frontal assault?"
I poured Luis a cup of coffee from the pot nearby, and took it to him. He drank part of it gratefully before answering. "Show us what you know."
"You first."
"That's easy," Luis said. "Damn near nothing. Whatever Cass already told you, that's it. I wasn't even there. She's your only eyewitness. Your turn."
"Follow me," Sanders said, and led us out of the tent. I dropped back to stay next to Luis, discreetly monitoring his fitness.
He knew what I was doing, and frowned at me. "What?"
"You're in pain."
"I'm fine. It's a side effect of rapid healing for me. Nothing wrong with me." He nodded to Agent Sanders. "So you're what, alpha dog now?"
I smiled. "Humans do tend to run in packs. Dominate the leader, and you dominate the others."
"Cynical."
"Useful."
Sanders didn't hear, because we were both murmuring very quietly. He led us down the hillside to yet another tent, this one with its entrance pulled shut. He slapped it aside and entered. As we followed, I realized that it was filled with more computers, more people, and rolling bulletin boards filled with images. Some were sharply rendered satellite images, showing the area of Rose Canyon where we were; I recognized the dark slash of the chasm first, and then the manicured park of Pearl's encampment on the opposite side. The FBI tents were visible only as smudges, but they'd been marked in red to make them more visible.
The white, rounded building that I'd seen was like a moon set into the green, carefully empty expanse. Nothing around it--unlike Colorado, which had had barracks, buildings, even an elaborate playground for the children.
This was more . . . alien.
I scanned the photos one by one, looking at each in detail, surveying the entire expanse of the surface of the billboards. It took time. Luis finished before I did, but I doubt he saw as much.
He was tired.
"So?" Sanders asked. He folded his arms. "Insights from your side of the street?"
"It's not like Colorado," I said. "Not at all. That felt as if it had been built by human hands."
"That's because it was," Sanders replied. "Built by the Church of the New World. Their training-slash-inspirational camp, preaching and war games all rolled into one. Thing is, the CNW wasn't one of those apocalypse cults, originally; it was built by a bunch of hippies who wanted to do the peace and love thing. Gradually got taken over by more and more extreme elements. But even so, we never expected them to ramp up to industrial crazy. They were--" He shrugged. "Normal. As such things go."
"Until last year," I said. He nodded. "And when did this structure appear?" I touched the white bubble shown in the pictures.
"About eight months ago," he said. Same in Colorado. Same in two other places we know of. Same damn structure. This one's the largest, though. It's about the size of a football stadium, though it's not very tall. We figure all their facilities are inside, including whatever training they're doing."
"Who comes in and out?"
"In, we get individual cars and trucks. Not too many of those. Most are registered to members of the church, a few suppliers who drop off stuff and drive away."
Luis asked, "Who comes out to get it?"
"Nobody," Sanders said. "It sits there until dark. We monitor with night vision, but we never see anybody come out to get it. It just . . . disappears."
I nodded. I understood, now. "I will need a list of those . . . suppliers."
"They all check out. And yeah, we've tried putting tracking and surveillance into the shipments. No good. Everything gets blocked as soon as it's inside that dome. Some kind of interference."
"I'll need the list," I repeated. "And a weapon. Perhaps one of those large ones your agents carried in the clearing."
"Uh-huh," Sanders said, not in any way as if he was acceding to my request. "And you'd like this because . . . ?"
"Trust me," Luis said. "I don't think it's better to know the answer to that one."
"Gotta write a report," Sanders said. "Government runs on reports. So yes. I need an answer before I say yes, no, or anything."
I shrugged. "I'm going to get into the facility," I said. "Now that I know how. And I'm going to take a gun because I might need to shoot those who get in my way of retrieving Isabel and as many of the other children as possible."
Sanders blinked. "You're going to get inside. Shoot people. Rescue the kids."
"Yes."
"That's your plan."
"It is."
He looked at Luis. "Help me out."
"I think you need a little work on it," Luis told me. "Particularly in the part where you don't have any kind of backup or information about what's inside in the first place. Cass, for all you know, this is one giant fly trap, and you're the fly. You go in there, you may never make it out. And you're the one who said she's all about the Djinn. Maybe she's just waiting for a Djinn."
"I'm not a Djinn," I reminded him. "And I would happily accept backup from you. And any other Wardens you can locate and deliver quickly. But we can't wait. They know we're here. They won't be content to wait quietly much longer."
"Before they do what?" Sanders asked. His voice had gone quiet. The other agents in the tent--and they were all listening closely, although appearing not to--suddenly looked up, fixed on the answer to his question.
"Show me where the other facilities are located." He looked nonplussed by the question, then nodded to a nearby female agent, who tapped keys on her computer and pulled up four quadrants on the glowing screen. One was labeled ROSE CANYON, LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA--where we currently stood. One was labeled DOGTOWN COMMONS, MASSACHUSETTS, and it looked virtually identical to what was shown in La Jolla. Another said ADAMS, TENNESSEE. The last was OHIOVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA. "Show me on a map," I said. She pulled it up and illuminated the locations for me.
I called on Oversight, bringing the aetheric filter in front of my eyes, and saw the ghostly rivers of power that some humans still called ley lines.
Every one of these spots sat on a nexus, a power center. Oracles were situated on such spots; Sedona, for the Earth Oracle; Seacasket, for the Fire Oracle. Only the Weather Oracle had no fixed location that anyone could identify.
Pearl had established herself--or some aspect of herself--on the supernatural equivalent of a power grid, at the most powerful spots not being watched over by Djinn Oracles.
And all of the locations--all of th
em--now looked identical. The precisely measured open ground, freed of vegetation. The same glowing dome. Each location was bordered by geography that made it difficult to approach.
She had built herself a network, a support system, and a web of energy.
"Ley lines," I told Luis. He nodded. "You see what she's doing?"
"Building herself a power grid? Yeah, I see it. The question is, what's inside the domes? And which one is she in, physically?"
"I'm not sure she's in any of them," I said. "Or, more accurately, I'm not sure she's not in all of them. I think the dome is Pearl. But she is able to exist simultaneously, in different locations."
Luis grunted. "Wouldn't that divide her power?"
"I don't know," I said. With the ley lines, it was possible that she could draw from one location to another, move her consciousness seamlessly between the four sites without much, if any, delay. "How many other nexus points are open?"
"In this country? Probably about ten. You think she'll go after those, too?"
The FBI agent running the computer said, "The Ohioville location, there? That only came up on our radar about two months ago. Locals swear it wasn't there before. Satellite imaging confirms it."
Pearl was spreading her influence. It was an infection, a kind of disease traveling along the invisible lines of power that crisscrossed the planet's surface, and also served as conduits directly through its core. These installations could spring up like mushrooms, without warning.
"I think," I said quietly, "that if she can get enough power, she will spread to every nexus point in the world. Think of these as blisters, holding in infection." I tapped the screen, and the white dome. "When they break . . ."
Silence. They all looked at me. Luis looked faintly sick. "How much trouble are we in, exactly?"
Enough that I was being forced, again, to consider Ashan's orders. Destroy them all. She is powering herself through the humans. Cut out the humans, you cut her connection to the Earth, and she can be killed, once and for all.
Her war was against the Djinn, and yes, she would destroy them and absorb their aetheric power; but her heart, her soul, her spirit was channeled through humanity, in the same way that Djinn were connected to the Oracles.
I don't want to do this, some part of me whispered. Indeed, I did not. I dreaded it with all my soul. To destroy humanity, I would have to feel their pain, their deaths, their lives passing through me, being removed from the world and the living memory of the Mother. I would have to unmake Luis Rocha. Isabel. Even the fragile memorials of the dead, like Manny and Angela.
I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to take that step, not even looking at this appalling thing in front of me, and understanding how little time was left to us.
There's still time. There must be a way to stop her.
I had to try. For the sake of those I loved, for the sake of those I didn't, like Agent Sanders and his unseen family, I had to not only try, but succeed.
"We need all the Wardens you can find," I said. "All of them. We need to attack all of these at the same time, force her to fight multiple fronts. You understand?" I turned to Agent Sanders. "There will be humans to fight, or to rescue. Can we count on you to do what is needed?"
"You want teams at each of these locations."
"Are you saying they're not already there, feeding you information?"
He was silent, watching me, and finally gave a single nod. "All right," he said. "When?"
"Let me check on Wardens," Luis said, and slapped his pockets, looking harassed. "Cell phone?"
Agent Klein stepped up and handed it over to him. Luis flipped it open and began making calls. I left him to it, staring at the shimmering, featureless domes on the screen.
Sister, I thought. We were sisters once. So much alike. But she had learned to love killing, and I had learned to embrace the opposite. That was a harshly learned lesson, courtesy of Ashan, probably one he had never intended. But one I valued, nevertheless.
It occurred to me that she expected me to act against her as Ashan wished, destroying humanity to cut her off from her power. Reducing me to the same state that she had once been in.
Driving me mad, because assuredly, with so much death and agony coursing through me, I would destroy myself. I'd become like her.
Obsessed with the end of all things.
I wondered if Ashan had thought of that, too. Of what would happen if I turned toxic, like Pearl. Two of us, rending the world apart.
I could only imagine, old and clever as Ashan was, that he'd already seen that possibility.
That meant that should I execute his orders . . . execute humanity . . . there would be someone standing in the background, waiting to destroy me, as well.
It would be the only safe thing to do.
And suddenly, Rashid's inexplicable attachment made sense. He was not Ashan's creature, but he was Ashan's hireling. Close to me not because he was interested, or concerned, but because he was waiting.
Waiting for what he, and Ashan, knew was inevitable.
My hands--flesh, and metal--clenched into fists. "No," I murmured. "Not inevitable."
The FBI agent next to me looked up, frowning. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing is inevitable," I said. "Not even death."
I left her wondering, and turned to walk outside of the tent, breathing in the fresh, crisp air. It was mostly untainted by the massive cities around us, although I could still catch the occasional stench of exhaust and oil. I leaned against the rough bark of a tree, breathing deeply, and then crouched down to place both hands flat against the ground. I could sense something here, something like I had felt back on the ridge where I'd buried the child. A presence, though distant and elusive. Her presence.
"Help me," I whispered. "Help me understand what I should do." Then I directed it upward, outward, to the greater power beyond the vast one of this world. "Help me save them."
A cool breeze drifted across my face like a caress, and I turned into it and closed my eyes. This moment felt peaceful, almost worshipful in its intensity. As if I was alone, connected once more to the life I had once led. Connected to eternity.
Then I heard a snapping of twigs, and opened my eyes to see Agent Ben Turner shove aside underbrush and step out to face me.
The Warden was not his usual, nondescript self. He'd been in a fight, a hard one; there were bruises forming on his face, and one of his hands looked swollen into uselessness. Broken, perhaps. He was breathing hard. His FBI-issue Windbreaker was ripped--no, shredded--and I saw blood spotting his shirt. Minor wounds, it seemed, but the look in his eyes told me that he did not consider them so.
"You did that," he said. "You set that bastard on me."
Rashid. "No one commands Rashid," I said, which was quite true, albeit misleading in this case. "You drew his attention yourself, by taking the scroll. You knew he wanted it for himself." I raised my eyebrows. "Do you still have it?"
"What do you think?" he snapped, and held up his swollen hand. "He broke my fingers to get it!"
That did sound like Rashid. "He didn't like you turning against us. Neither did I. Neither, I suspect, will the other Wardens."
"You think I give a crap about what the Wardens think?" Turner snapped. "I did what I had to do. You people are out of control. Look at what they just did in Florida--Jesus Christ, they stole a fucking cruise ship. With innocent people on board. They kidnapped people, and you know some of those people are bound to get caught in the middle. That's what I'm left with--loyalty to a bunch of assholes who think nothing of collateral damage? No. No more. The Wardens need somebody telling them where their limits are, if they can't see it themselves."
It was a long speech, and he was winded by the end of it. And emotionally exhausted from the passion he'd poured into it. I wondered what collateral damage he had seen, or experienced himself. I wondered if his own hands were entirely clean of the blood.
"I have never loved the Wardens," I said, which was entirely true. As a Djinn, they
'd been the enemy to me: enslavers of my own kind. Not only no better than human . . . worse than human. When the pact had shattered between the Djinn and the Wardens, freeing the captives from their forced servitude, no one had taken more satisfaction from that than I.
But I also knew that the Wardens were what they were for a reason. They were ruthless, self-centered and ferociously competitive, yes; they were also self-sacrificing and magnificent, when necessary. These things did not make for comfortable, easily categorizable analysis. The Wardens, like nature itself, were neither good nor bad. They simply were. And were required to be, for the sake of the fragile lives in their trust.
"You think the government can control them?" I asked. "You think you have enough will and power of your own to force the Wardens into it?"
"I'm not alone," he said. "There are other Wardens who think things have gone too far."
"Then take it back from within. But if you think that subjugating them to the will of political appointees is a good idea, then I suggest you are allowing your hatred to blind you to reality," I said. "It doesn't matter now. We will need your help."
"My help?" He laughed, but it had a wild, dark sound. "Why the hell would I help any of you?"
"Because you're not a bad man. Because you are sworn to help, to protect, and not to run from battle, yes, but mostly because you, Ben Turner, the man beneath all that, wants justice. And wishes to save children. I saw that in you when we first met, Ben. You want to save them. You need to save them."
He blinked, but he didn't disagree with that, at least. "There are children in that compound," I said. "Isabel Rocha is one of them. You saw Brianna. You saw Gloria. You saw the others. You know we can't let them be destroyed, not without losing our own honor."
He leaned against another tree across the clearing, cradling his wounded arm in his good hand. He looked tired, and achy, and a little lost. "So what are you going to do?"
"Go get them," I said. "And you will come with me." He held up his hand. "Yeah, about that. I don't really think I'll be a whole lot of help."
Luis stepped out of the tent, looked from me to Agent Turner, and said, "Hey. Are we going to beat the crap out of this guy?"
"I think Rashid's already performed that service," I said. "What's left is healing him so that we can use him."
"Dammit. I always miss out on the beat-down and end up doing the cleanup. Sucks being an Earth Warden sometimes."