Shattered Sky

  “Meaning?”

  Tessic patted Dillon on the cheek, and offered up a wry smile. “Simply put, Dillon, I am helping you because you’re good for my soul.”

  Dillon glanced at the oasis around him. There was something tempting about it, and somehow that made it feel dangerous.

  Sensing Dillon’s reluctance, Tessic reached over and twisted a twig from the tree beside him. “This has always been a symbol for hope and peace,” he said. “I hope you’ll accept my olive branch.”

  When Dillon didn’t take it, Tessic placed it on a boulder beside them, and turned the key that opened the elevator doors.

  THE MULTI-STORY PENTHOUSE WAS part office and spa, part museum, and part spiritual sanctuary. “Not exactly Hearst Castle,” Tessic commented. “I like to think my tastes are not so garish.”

  Perhaps not, but every last amenity seethed excess, from a reading room that featured a priceless collection of medieval Jewish artifacts, to a four-story indoor rock-climbing wall, which towered above Tessic’s personal gym. Maddy clung to the top of the wall, focused on her climb; “entertaining herself,” as Tessic had said. Dillon chose not to disturb her.

  The sixty-second floor, the lowest floor of the penthouse complex, was set aside for what Tessic called his “professional hobbies.” It housed his private office; an uncharacteristically modest space, with some shelves and a simple cherrywood desk, within a larger gallery of high-tech toys. Some projects were complete, others still works-in-progress. In one corner sat an elaborate model train that ran on magnetic levitation. Nearby was a drafting table overflowing with schematics for a large-scale version, that Tessic was clearly drafting by his own hand.

  “The stuff of dreams,” Tessic told him. “Or at least my dreams.”

  There was a workbench full of computer viscera, reminding Dillon of the hands-on inventiveness that was Tessic’s calling card, even before he became known for his business acumen. It was comforting to see that the man was still elbow-deep in nuts and bolts.

  “Let me show you my latest interest.” Tessic led Dillon to a Lucite-covered display case that held a matchbox city. Row after row of three-inch high-rise apartment buildings.

  “Another dream?” asked Dillon.

  “Reality,” Tessic answered. “We’re already on the third phase.”

  “I didn’t know you were a developer.” Dillon’s eyes blurred as he looked at the three-dimensional grid of towers. “There’s got to be a hundred buildings here.”

  “A hundred and twelve. The largest single housing complex ever conceived—and it’s just one of several I have planned.”

  Dillon moved around the box, to view it from another angle.

  “It interests you,” observed Tessic.

  “I’m just a little stunned. I mean, it must cost billions. No matter how rich you are, I can’t believe you can afford this.”

  “I have no one to leave my money to. So I intend to exit this world penniless.”

  “This is a good start.”

  “Besides, money’s not quite the same over there.”

  “Over where?”

  Tessic drew Dillon’s attention to a map on the wall, pinned up between artists renderings of one of the buildings. “I have purchased several large plots of land in Belarus and Poland. The labor’s cheap, and so are the raw materials. Some leverage with a few friendly European banks, and my out-of-pocket expense is under fifteen million.”

  “Oh, is that all,” Dillon scoffed.

  “Of course they’re not the most beautiful of structures, but form follows function. The goal is to get them up quickly. We can always beautify them later.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I’m nothing if not efficient,” Tessic answered, then added, “And besides, as you’re the author of world chaos, you should know how little constructive time is left.”

  Dillon shifted uncomfortably. Tessic was prodding him, gauging his reaction. “I may be responsible for what’s happening in the world,” Dillon said, “but I won’t take credit as its author. I never intended it.”

  “You have plans to repair it, then?”

  Dillon found he couldn’t look Tessic in the eye.

  “Hopes, then,” Tessic prompted. “Hopes in search of a plan.”

  “Yes, you could say that.”

  “Perhaps I can help you there,” offered Tessic. “Strategy is one of my specialties.” Tessic exuded confidence like a musk, and Dillon found himself half believing Tessic really could help. He wondered whether or not it was just wishful thinking.

  Dillon studied the lattice of model buildings, which was more like a starburst than a grid, the buildings radiating outward from an octagonal park in the center. A bold design, like the man who conceived it. “So, are these housing complexes part of some strategy?” Dillon asked. “These people obviously can’t afford this type of housing, unless you give it away. What could you possibly get in return?”

  Tessic paused. “Always with you, I must have some angle.”

  Dillon waited, and Tessic looked away. “The great wall of China is the only man-made structure visible from space,” Tessic said. “I intend to add to the tally.”

  Dillon nodded, but knew that Elon Tessic was not so shallow a man. He served more than just his ego. “That’s a nice cover story. Now tell me the real reason.”

  Dillon refused to back down, and, cornered, Tessic sighed. “You read me too well.”

  “One of my specialties.”

  Tessic looked at his miniature city, and gently stroked its Lucite lid, as if it were a lover. “You can call it my mitzvah project,” Tessic said quietly. “A holy deed in a faithless world.” Reflexively, Dillon’s thoughts ricocheted to Deanna. It irritated him that the mere mention of faith could bring her to haunt his thoughts. But if nothing else, it helped to sober him.

  “We could go there,” Tessic offered. “I could show you the site.”

  “Why would I want to go there?”

  Tessic had no immediate answer.

  Dillon looked around the workship. If this was Tessic’s sandbox, Dillon didn’t want to play. “I appreciate your hospitality, Elon,” he said. “But I can’t accept it. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  Although he thought Tessic might deflate with the news, he showed no signs of it. “That is, of course, your choice to make.”

  Dillon nodded. “I’ll tell Maddy.” He turned to leave, but Tessic called to him.

  “You’ve always spoken of your desire to pull back your energy field—contain yourself. Do you still believe you’ll ever be able to do that?”

  “Yes, I do.” Although he was no closer now than he had been in Hesperia.

  “Has it occurred to you,” said Tessic, “that perhaps I was brought to you as your means of containment?”

  Dillon hadn’t considered that. It was a seductive thought, for it implied a grand design, and if there was anything that Dillon longed for, it was grand designs. Perfect patterns. An ordered universe.

  “From the moment I was brought in to build your prison,” Tessic said, “I knew that our meeting was bashert. Fated. I built you this sanctuary, knowing fate would bring you here.”

  Dillon maintained his distance, keeping a buffer zone between himself and Tessic’s persuasive intensity. “Fate didn’t bring me here; you did,” Dillon reminded him. “In a helicopter, backed up by your own personal army.”

  “If it wasn’t meant to be, I would have failed.”

  Dillon laughed. “What? Elon Tessic? Fail?”

  Tessic hesitated, becoming quiet. “It has happened more often than you know.”

  There was deep sorrow to his words. Dillon found himself trying to decipher the source of the sorrow, and found the path convoluted and clouded. Dillon knew if he pushed himself, he could decode Tessic’s complex patterns and truly know the man, but Dillon didn’t have the heart to do it. He much preferred Tessic as an enigma.

  “Do you know how I became successful, Dillon?” he asked. r />
  Dillon shrugged. “You’re a genius. Everyone knows that.”

  “Most geniuses starve,” Tessic reminded him. “I succeeded because I took the time to listen. I learned to be still. But you—you spend your time running. Running away, running toward, but always running.”

  Tessic paused, perhaps waiting for Dillon to defend himself, but there was no defense. Tessic was right.

  “Be still,” Tessic said, his voice soothing and calm. “You are like some beacon that is never in the same place twice. What good is that to anyone? What good is that to you? Imagine yourself, for once at the center of the universe, Dillon, and the shadows you chase, your purpose here—everything you seek will be drawn to you. And in that stillness, when your fate does come to you, you will be ready to seize it.”

  ON THE ROCK-CLIMBING WALL, Maddy was already seizing what Tessic had to offer. She had earned it. Years of busting her ass to gain admittance to a military machine that stuck her with the likes of Bussard, then created a backspin of lies that turned her into America’s Most Wanted. AWOL and disgraced; a fugitive only six months after a high-honor West Point graduation—yes, she had earned the right to luxuriate in Tessic’s penthouse.

  As she scaled his magnificent rock-climbing wall, she thought back to easier times; Bryce Canyon, two summers before, when the only challenge in her life was the stone faces of the rocks she climbed, and her stone-faced instructors come fall. This had once been a predictable, rational world she could sink her teeth into.

  She reached up, deftly inching her way higher, trying to block out everything but the wall. Tessic called it his climate-controlled Everest. He called the entire penthouse complex his “urban cottage.”

  “You’ll find it pleasant,” he had told her while their helicopter was still en route. He took pride in his ability to understate.

  She didn’t know what to expect of the place before she arrived. Somewhere in the back of her mind were images of a pleasure dome replete with large-breasted, iron-thighed amazons running the whole operation. But instead she found, to some disappointment, a staff no more exotic than any other. A plump Midwestern woman ran the penthouse staff, and went on about how the military had stonewalled her husband after Desert Storm, “so I can sympathize, honey.” Maddy wasn’t sure how much she knew of their situation, but she knew enough. It could have been a security problem, but the woman’s loyalty to Tessic was unwavering. “Elon paid all of Jimmy’s medical bills, when the Pentagon SOBs were still denying Desert Storm Syndrome,” she had told Maddy, as she led her to a lavishly appointed bedroom suite.

  She was introduced to the gardener, a small Asian man with a nominally effective artificial eye that Tessitech Labs had designed. It appeared that for everyone here, Tessic had descended upon their particular misery, assuaging it with some well-conceived act of kindness. It was the most effective security measure she had ever seen.

  While Dillon still slept off a massive sedative, and before she attempted to climb the wall, Tessic had visited her in her room.

  “I wasn’t certain of your sleeping arrangements,” he told her, “so I prepared you and Dillon separate rooms.”

  “That will be fine,” she said. If he were fishing for the state of her and Dillon’s relationship, he would not find out from her. She briefly wondered if he might try to seduce her—after all, he did have a reputation as a playboy, but there was nothing in the penthouse to suggest he was a womanizer. “So, are we your guests, your prisoners, or your experimental subjects?”

  Tessic laughed and wagged a finger at her. “Still you only trust me as far as you can throw me.”

  “Actually, I can throw you farther.”

  “Well, perhaps I will give you that opportunity in the gym later on.”

  She hated that he was always so disarming, deflecting her barbs with the facile skill of one of his weapons systems. “Good,” she said, trying hard to hide a smirk. “I think I’d enjoy putting you in traction.”

  Tessic opened the blinds, bringing in the afternoon light, and a spectacular view of Houston. “I must confess, I’ve taken a liking to you, Lieutenant Haas.”

  “You can drop the Lieutenant,” she told him. “I think we can assume my military career is over.”

  “Then may I call you Maddy?”

  “Miss Haas will do fine.”

  “Very well, then,” he said. “A minor victory in our little cold war.” Then he paused for a second, contemplating her—not looking her up and down, but simply considering her as a whole. “Perhaps, Miss Haas, if things ever settle down, you might consider working for me.”

  “That depends. Is hell freezing over any time soon?”

  “We’ll have to ask Dillon,” he said. She laughed in spite of herself. “You know,” said Tessic, “you might have a problem in trusting me, but after what I’ve seen you do for Dillon, I trust you implicitly.”

  She sighed. “So . . . what about Dillon?” In spite of their cushy sanctuary, nothing had really changed. Dillon was still at the center of events raging out of control. They weren’t free from the hurricane, they were merely in its eye.

  “Yes, what about Dillon?” echoed Tessic, waiting to take her lead, rather than pushing forward with his own ideas. She had no answer for him. She was still grappling with the events of the past few days. A graveyard resurrection—a spirit that devours souls. Before knowing Dillon, she had never been truly convinced of the existence of souls, much less the possibility of them being ripped away. This past week was enough to process; she was light-years away from considering tomorrow.

  “No one knows him better than you,” Tessic reminded her. “You know what he needs, perhaps better than he does himself.”

  Yes, she did know him, and while Tessic’s motives were still in question, she and Tessic shared the common goal of Dillon’s well-being. That was reason enough for detente, even alliance. And so, in the end, it was Maddy who suggested that Dillon be allowed to wake in the garden; a tranquil environment where Tessic might be perceived more as a friend than a threat.

  She found herself avoiding Dillon for the rest of the day. After the rock-climbing wall, she took a massage at Tessic’s suggestion, then retired early to her room for a long bath in an oversized tub. After spending so much time tending to Dillon’s needs, she had forgotten she had needs of her own. She had never been one to pamper herself—that was her sister’s style—but perhaps it was time.

  Her sister! It had been so long since Maddy had even thought of Erica. No doubt the FBI had found her in Brooklyn and was harassing her no end about her psychotically homicidal sibling. She wondered what Erica made of all this, and whether or not she believed the lies being spread about Maddy. She didn’t even want to consider what her parents might be going through. Perhaps Tessic could arrange to get messages to all of them. She would have to ask.

  Dillon came to her that night. She had hoped he would, and yet at the same time dreaded being read by him, before she could really read her own feeling about being there.

  “I thought I’d see you at dinner,” Dillon said, when she let him in. “Are you all right?”

  “Just tired,” she told him. “Too much for one day.”

  Dillon threw her an impish, scarred grin. “Ah, you’re such a lightweight.”

  “I can see you’re feeling better.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Maddy . . . what you saw in the graveyard . . .”

  But Maddy put a finger to his lips. “We’ll sort that out later.”

  He kissed her, then she took his hand and led him to her bed. Being with him was different now. That radiant fire she had felt pulsing from him in the graveyard was still there, so strong that she feared being near him would push her threshold of pain. But she quickly found that being with him now was like slipping into that hot bath. Her spirit and flesh had to grow accustomed to the intensity of his aura, but once they had, it was marvelous. Discomfort gave way to hypersensitivity of touch, and she could feel herself entirely enveloped by him.
It was wonderful to be lost in him, but there was a sadness in knowing that it could never truly be mutual. That there would never be a time she could envelop him.

  DILLON FOUND ONE QUESTION plaguing him. It was a question he was afraid to ask Maddy, because any answer would be just as troubling.

  “Do you trust Tessic?” Dillon finally asked in the silence as he lay beside her. He didn’t expect her to answer the question, but after his conversation with Tessic that afternoon, he had to ask. As he suspected, she sidestepped the issue, pulling back slightly from his touch.

  “Whatever his agenda, it doesn’t seem to be hurting you.”

  “You think he has an agenda?”

  “Everyone has an agenda,” she said. “Whether they know it or not.”

  “So what’s yours?”

  She answered him with a passionate kiss.

  “I hope that’s always on the agenda,” he said.

  He moved in to kiss her again, but she held him off for a moment. “Dillon . . . if Tessic’s offering you a safe haven, there’s nothing wrong with taking it.”

  Dillon pulled away, frustrated by her words. “You don’t believe that—even in the dark I can see it in your face.”

  “I have a suspicious nature—you’d be stupid to hang your decisions on me.”

  “Well it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve already told him I’m leaving in the morning.” He turned to her and gently touched her face, and when that didn’t seem like quite enough, he kissed her, but now the kiss felt forced. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come with me.”

  “Of course I’ll come.” But it was resignation he read in her voice. As if to stem off any further discussion, she shifted closer to him, and held him. “I love you, Dillon.” He knew it was a simple truth that transcended their tensions.

  Sometime later, he told her he loved her, too, but only after she was asleep. Why? he wondered. Why couldn’t he say it to her face? Did he love her? He loved who she was; he loved the feel of her body; he loved that she loved him.