Read Online Written in Fire (The Brilliance Trilogy Book 3) by Marcus Sakey - Free Book Online
Authors: Marcus Sakey
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They were coming into the next station. If he triggers the bomb there, even more people will die.
“John,” she said. “I’m not that important.”
Across the aisle, the baby let loose a squeal.
“Fine. Colin, you did well. Get off. If anyone tries to stop you, blow the train.”
The boy seemed almost disappointed, but he put his hand back in his pocket and rose swiftly. As the train glided to a stop, he vanished in the crowd at the door.
“I misjudged you, Shannon. How does it feel to get dirty?”
“Lousy,” she said. “But I’ll just have to comfort myself with the thought that I saved all these people’s lives.” She clicked disconnect before he could reply.
And buried her head in her hands.
----
“I have no information on that. We only investigate crimes.”
—B IRMINGHAM P OLICE C OMMISSIONER J ARRETT E VANS ON ALLEGATIONS THAT OFF-DUTY POLICE OFFICERS KIDNAPPED AND EXECUTED THREE ABNORMS IN A LABAMA
CHAPTER 7
Bay Avenue was a collection of bleak warehouses, light industrial buildings, and garages. The palette ran from brown to gray, and the air smelled faintly of fish. When the winter sun flared through a narrow slit in the clouds, dull glints fired off broken windshields in the auto salvage yard.
Abe Couzen’s building was squat and ugly. No sign, no mailbox, and in place of a traditional lock, a thumbprint scanner. Just as Vincent had described.
The only problem was that the door stood open.
“Get behind me,” Cooper said, and Ethan moved with alacrity.
Other than a delivery truck rumbling in a loading dock fifty yards away, the block was quiet. Still, it was hard to imagine positive circumstances in which the good doctor had left his secret lab open to the public.
One way to find out.
Cooper pushed the door the rest of the way. The sunlight was weak tea, and what illumination spilled in didn’t reveal much. Stepping lightly, he eased inside.
There was a faint hum in the background and an antiseptic smell. A bank of switches was on the wall. He debated for a moment, decided sight was better than surprise, and flipped them on. Fluorescent tubes clicked and buzzed to life.
The tables were lined with centrifuges and sensors and apparatuses whose function he could only guess at. A row of contamination suits hung like limp corpses. In the center of the room, one of the benches had been knocked over, the shiny equipment left where it had fallen. Broken glass sparkled. Glossy crimson was splashed in a line across one bench, onto the floor, then up the near wall, as though by the flick of a giant paintbrush. A bloodstained shirt and hoodie lay on the floor by a stainless steel refrigerator.
Dr. Abraham Couzen was nowhere to be seen.
Cooper put a finger to his lips, then gestured to Ethan to stay put. He moved to the far wall. The first door led to a small bathroom. There was half a roll of toilet paper on the tank, and the sink held toothpaste and a brush, a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream. The other room was a makeshift bedroom, little more than a supply closet with an army cot in it. No one inside, and nowhere to hide.
Shit.
In the center of the room, Ethan dipped a finger into the blood spray, held it up red and shining. Still wet. Cooper moved to the discarded clothing. Beside the hoodie lay most of a ham-and-cheese sandwich on cheap white bread. Several bites were missing. He was starting for a bank of servers when he heard the rumble of a truck engine.
Idiot. How did you miss that?
He turned to Ethan, just had time to say, “Doc, don’t do anything stupid,” before men burst in the door yelling.
They wore full body armor and headgear like motorcycle helmets. Their assault rifles swept the room in lethal arcs, a dance of clockwork precision, and Cooper knew that was partly a matter of endless training and partly because those helmets had a HUD that showed the position of every other teammate, as well as video feed, heat vision, weapon assessment protocols
“John,” she said. “I’m not that important.”
Across the aisle, the baby let loose a squeal.
“Fine. Colin, you did well. Get off. If anyone tries to stop you, blow the train.”
The boy seemed almost disappointed, but he put his hand back in his pocket and rose swiftly. As the train glided to a stop, he vanished in the crowd at the door.
“I misjudged you, Shannon. How does it feel to get dirty?”
“Lousy,” she said. “But I’ll just have to comfort myself with the thought that I saved all these people’s lives.” She clicked disconnect before he could reply.
And buried her head in her hands.
----
“I have no information on that. We only investigate crimes.”
—B IRMINGHAM P OLICE C OMMISSIONER J ARRETT E VANS ON ALLEGATIONS THAT OFF-DUTY POLICE OFFICERS KIDNAPPED AND EXECUTED THREE ABNORMS IN A LABAMA
CHAPTER 7
Bay Avenue was a collection of bleak warehouses, light industrial buildings, and garages. The palette ran from brown to gray, and the air smelled faintly of fish. When the winter sun flared through a narrow slit in the clouds, dull glints fired off broken windshields in the auto salvage yard.
Abe Couzen’s building was squat and ugly. No sign, no mailbox, and in place of a traditional lock, a thumbprint scanner. Just as Vincent had described.
The only problem was that the door stood open.
“Get behind me,” Cooper said, and Ethan moved with alacrity.
Other than a delivery truck rumbling in a loading dock fifty yards away, the block was quiet. Still, it was hard to imagine positive circumstances in which the good doctor had left his secret lab open to the public.
One way to find out.
Cooper pushed the door the rest of the way. The sunlight was weak tea, and what illumination spilled in didn’t reveal much. Stepping lightly, he eased inside.
There was a faint hum in the background and an antiseptic smell. A bank of switches was on the wall. He debated for a moment, decided sight was better than surprise, and flipped them on. Fluorescent tubes clicked and buzzed to life.
The tables were lined with centrifuges and sensors and apparatuses whose function he could only guess at. A row of contamination suits hung like limp corpses. In the center of the room, one of the benches had been knocked over, the shiny equipment left where it had fallen. Broken glass sparkled. Glossy crimson was splashed in a line across one bench, onto the floor, then up the near wall, as though by the flick of a giant paintbrush. A bloodstained shirt and hoodie lay on the floor by a stainless steel refrigerator.
Dr. Abraham Couzen was nowhere to be seen.
Cooper put a finger to his lips, then gestured to Ethan to stay put. He moved to the far wall. The first door led to a small bathroom. There was half a roll of toilet paper on the tank, and the sink held toothpaste and a brush, a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream. The other room was a makeshift bedroom, little more than a supply closet with an army cot in it. No one inside, and nowhere to hide.
Shit.
In the center of the room, Ethan dipped a finger into the blood spray, held it up red and shining. Still wet. Cooper moved to the discarded clothing. Beside the hoodie lay most of a ham-and-cheese sandwich on cheap white bread. Several bites were missing. He was starting for a bank of servers when he heard the rumble of a truck engine.
Idiot. How did you miss that?
He turned to Ethan, just had time to say, “Doc, don’t do anything stupid,” before men burst in the door yelling.
They wore full body armor and headgear like motorcycle helmets. Their assault rifles swept the room in lethal arcs, a dance of clockwork precision, and Cooper knew that was partly a matter of endless training and partly because those helmets had a HUD that showed the position of every other teammate, as well as video feed, heat vision, weapon assessment protocols
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