My fault.
“My name is Tom Peaks, I’m with Homeland Security and DARPA. Let’s get right to it, Professor Darby: turn over the rock. Do it now, do it painlessly, and maybe we can—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Martin tried to shake off the SWAT guys, but it was like trying to shake off a pair of pit bulls.
“Professor, this can be easy and quickly over, or it can be traumatic as we tear your house apart,” Peaks said. “I just flew in from the West Coast and I’m tired, so let’s go down the easy path, what do you say?”
“What I say is I don’t have the first clue where the ASO is. As I’ve been telling my direct supervisor at the task force, Dr. Redeagle—”
“Yes, I know what you’ve been telling HSTF-Sixty-Six, I read all the reports. I run HSTF-Sixty-Six, Professor Darby, and whether you know it or not, you work for me.” Peaks let that sink in, then motioned to the SWAT guys to release their grip on Martin.
Martin climbed to his feet. “Leave my daughter and her friend alone,” he demanded with all his professorial authority.
“No one is bothering them,” Peaks said, and then, noticing that there was still a gun in Cruz’s face, said, “I don’t think we need that.” He put a hand on the gun barrel and pushed it away. “Listen to me, Professor Darby, it is unarguable that you altered your calculations so as to mislead the search team. No one else could have done it.”
Shade’s face was carefully blank. Cruz took her cue from Shade and stared at the air.
“Anyone might have hacked our network. It’s not my fault if your security is inadequate.” After the initial shock, Martin had accessed his inner professor and was now bristling with offended dignity.
From the rest of the house came shouts of “Clear!” as SWAT members moved from room to room on the ground floor and upstairs. The search for the rock would begin in minutes and with experienced searchers it wouldn’t take long.
“Oh, man,” Shade said in a long, unhappy exhalation. “I am so sorry, Dad. So, so, so very sorry.”
Peaks ignored her. Cruz did not. Her eyes went wide.
“Leave him alone. It wasn’t my father who changed the numbers,” Shade said in an abashed but not exactly humble tone. “It was me.”
Peaks’s head jerked. His eyes widened in amazement because now he was seeing Shade change . . . change . . . changed, all in a matter of seconds. He started to yell but Shade was no longer there. She raced into the kitchen, yanked a twelve-inch chef’s knife from the block, zoomed through the front door and out to the street, slashed like a crazed killer, and returned, vibrating to a stop.
The sight of her caused a nearly comic recoil from everyone, including Martin.
“Listen. I’m sorry.” She had to drawl at what to her was a comically slow speed, but still she suspected she was hard to understand. “But I. Just cut. The tires. On all. Your vehicles.”
“You? You . . . what?” Peaks sputtered. He reached for his phone, fumbled, frowned, and slowly realized Shade was holding it.
“Here! On me!” Peaks roared, and instantly came the rushing tramp of feet. Two more SWAT members came pelting down the stairs, their weapons leveled.
And then their weapons were no longer in their hands and Shade had both guns slung over her shoulder.
It really was absurdly easy. She could have done far more, far worse.
Power!
“Shoot her! Take her out!” Peaks yelled, and more SWAT members converged, all yelling, “Down down down!” at Martin and Cruz, trying to get a clear shot, and Martin yelling, “No!”
But again, Shade was no longer there, and their weapons were no longer in their hands, but lay in a heap on the parlor couch.
“That’s. Not. Going. To work. Mr. Peaks,” Shade said, coming to a stop.
Martin was staring at his daughter dumbfounded—staring at a version of his daughter at least. To a father’s eyes she would have been at least somewhat recognizable, but he must have had doubts.
“Sorry. Dad,” Shade said. “Cruz? Go to. The car.”
Shade knew this was a moment of truth for Cruz. Cruz had just achieved at least some of what she had hoped for, maybe, and now Shade would have them on the run—on the run from the United States government, no less.
Shade had plenty of time to contemplate the fact that she would have to admit to Malik that he was right. At least somewhat right. But maybe not all the way right, because right now, if Peaks or his gunmen made a move against her father, she could stop them. She was the power here, not Gaia.
Not Peaks, she corrected herself.