“I can’t solve it.” Nick peered over Bert’s shoulder at the notebook. “I’ve entered everything into a computer program, used some open-source algebra software, tried to find patterns. That helped me with the Tesla cloud. But with the teleforce, zip.”

  “You deciphered this?”

  “Deciphered it? Do you mean read it? Sure.”

  “Can you show me? I’m having trouble making out the equations.”

  Nick squinted. “Really? Looks perfectly legible to me.”

  “That’s because you and your donor have the same handwriting. It’s a gene thing.”

  “Huh. I guess that makes sense. Computer is in the cage, next to the Tesla turbine.”

  Bert followed Nick into the large Faraday cage and tried not to think about Weejy, which made him think harder about Weejy. Nick opened up a window on his flat screen monitor, and Bert faced some of the most complicated math he’d ever seen.

  But it was white numbers and letters on a black screen, oddly pleasing to the eye.

  There’s something here.

  It isn’t random. It’s deliberate.

  And it’s captivating.

  Bert stared. Then he focused by unfocusing.

  His technique for deep concentration involved letting go. Not daydreaming, or losing sight of the goal. More like those Magic Eye illusions popular in the 1990s, where the key to seeing the hidden picture was to stare at it so long you stared through it.

  I can’t see a pattern. But I know one exists.

  I just have to relax and let my brain find it.

  The first thing Bert found was a color. Aqua blue, with wavy black stripes. It seemed to wallpaper Bert’s mind, and as his eyes scanned the screen, the pattern rippled and undulated.

  After an indeterminate amount of time passed, the color that expanded across his mental horizon began to shrink, borders forming and bending, until it appeared to be two circles overlapped by a triangle.

  But the triangle has no color. It’s transparent.

  That can only mean one thing.

  “There’s data missing.”

  “Jesus, you scared me! I thought you fell asleep with your eyes open. You’ve been staring at the screen for ten minutes.”

  “This is everything in Tesla’s notebook?”

  “Everything related to the teleforce. There’s another page on the Tesla cloud and wireless power, but I already cracked that one. Well, mostly. I can’t scale it.”

  “Put it on the screen.”

  When the equations appeared, Bert instantly envisioned a mauve cloud with nineteen squiggly arms.

  “Open both windows.”

  Nick played with his mouse and brought both pages up at the same time, splitting the screen.

  The squiggle-thing seemed to undulate, and the triangle turned purple, with four red spots.

  “Open up a notepad.”

  Nick made a blank window pop up, and Bert did something even stranger than imagining equations as shapes; he translated the new shape into text. Without looking at the keyboard, Bert’s fingers danced across the keys as he described the image in his head using symbols, letters, and numbers.

  When Bert finished, he didn’t have a clue what he’d typed. But Nick seemed shook.

  “That’s… how did you do that? That’s incredible. You filled in the missing teleforce figures with the wireless figures, but this isn’t either.”

  “I think Tesla purposely mixed up his notes. Like switching recipe ingredients. So no one but him could get the formulas right.”

  “But you did it. I couldn’t, but you did.”

  “These are just the equations. Can it be made?”

  Nick rubbed his chin and began to say something else, then stopped himself. Instead he hunched over the monitor and typed under Bert’s new formula:

  I can build this. It will only take about ten minutes. But we can’t let ziggy have it.

  Nick erased his words, and Bert took over. Will it do what tesla predicted?

  “I don’t know.”

  I’M TERRIFIED, Nick typed.

  “We need to build a prototype and try,” Bert told him.

  ZIGGY

  Area 57 – New Mexico

  “We need to build a prototype and try.”

  Ziggy smiled. A real smile, filled with joy.

  “That was much quicker than I expected,” he proclaimed, turning away from the wall of monitors and staring at Tork. “If they can get this working, it will change the world.”

  “So can I have the women?”

  “When they’re done, yes. But can’t you see how this is so much more important than succumbing to base pleasures? I’m making history, Tork. If this works as Tesla intended, I could destroy cities from thousands of kilometers away. Or I could target just one person. The fate of millions, even billions, will be at my discretion. It would be the ultimate in power. I could control nations. Topple governments. I’ll be a god. Yet your small mind is focused on rape and torture.”

  “They’re gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  Tork pointed at one of the monitors, and Ziggy glanced up at the interrogation room.

  The empty interrogation room.

  Joy fizzled like a match dropped into water.

  Ziggy reached for the intercom to alert the guards, then paused.

  If I announce it, the women will know I’m looking for them. And Bert will know they escaped.

  Instead he told Tork, “Go get them.” Then Ziggy sent out a group text using the new password.

  The women have escaped. I want them found, alive.

  Tork hurried off, and Ziggy’s eyes flitted over the dozens of other screens, zeroing in on Tom Mankowski in Hallway 19, watching as Augustus Torble shot the former cop in the legs.

  That’s going to hurt poor Tom.

  But I hope poor Gus isn’t relying on those wax bullets to protect himself…

  TOM

  Area 57 – New Mexico

  During particularly intense moments, emotions tended to blur together. As Gus shot his legs, Tom became overwhelmed by a mix of fear and pain and shock and dread and hate and anger.

  If it had happened last week, Tom would have just given up. Stopped fighting and resigned himself to his helpless fate.

  But today, I’m going to fight.

  I’m going to fight for my life and my family and my friends and to save the world from maniacs.

  We all deserve to have hope for the future, and the only way for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.

  I’m done doing nothing.

  So even as the bullets sprayed, Tom was pushing at Torble, grabbing his wrists, struggling for the gun, and as his legs were shot to bloody hamburger—

  Wait—

  Why aren’t my legs shot to bloody hamburger?

  As he shoved Torble off of him, Tom didn’t see any bleeding. And the pain wasn’t on the same level as the last time he’d been shot. Not even close.

  They aren’t real bullets!

  Torble must have realized it at the same time Tom did, because he released the firearm, which clattered to the floor, and then pulled a tactical knife from his waistband, wielding it with both hands, snarling and drooling and putting his weight on it, trying to stab Tom in the chest.

  Tom didn’t want to get stabbed in the chest. He pushed up against the psychopath, but Torble had strength and gravity on his side, and slowly, inexorably, the blade inched toward Tom’s ribcage, over his rapidly-beating heart.

  Tom growled through his teeth, getting louder and louder, building into an ear-cracking war cry.

  I’m not giving up! I’m never giving up!

  I’m going to rip this knife away from this asshole and jam it up his—

  “DOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

  Both men looked toward the sound.

  Stosh.

  At the end of the hall. Head lowered and little wings cocked out to the sides.

  Torble snorted. “Stupid extinct bird. Can’t even fly.”

  Torble was right. Dodos couldn’t fly.

  But they sure as hell could leap.

  With no running start, Stosh sprang into the air and onto Torble, his massive beak ripping the knife from the maniac’s hand, taking three fingers along with it.

  Torble howled, rolling away, clutching the blood-eruption coming from his twitching stumps. Stosh lowered his head for a second attack and Torble scrambled to his feet and ran off through the nearest door.

  Tom sat up, rubbing his sore legs as Stosh nuzzled his neck.

  “Nice work, Stosh.” He scratched the dodo’s head, and then gave him a pat on the rump.

  “Doooooooo-dooooooooo.”

  Tom noted Abagail was also in the hall, pecking at Torble’s spilled blood. He managed to stand, picking up Torble’s knife.

  “I know this is a long shot, Stosh. But any chance you remember how to get out of this place?”

  Stosh stared at Tom and cocked his head on an angle.

  “Exit? Escape? Ladder?”

  “Dooooooooooo?”

  I swear that sounds like Stosh is asking me a question.

  He’s a smart animal. At least as smart as a dog. What are some words Bert might have taught him?

  Hungry? Food? Walk? Ride? Home?

  “Home?” Tom tried.

  “Dooooooo-ooooooooooo!”

  Stosh took off sprinting, opening a door with his beak.

  Abagail ran through it.

  So did Tom.

  Feeling part-foolish and part-optimistic, Tom followed his fowl companions through the underground maze of Esbat. It was blind luck they didn’t encounter any security guards.

  But it wasn’t blind luck when Stosh led Tom into the hallway-slash-cave.

  Stosh found the way we came in.

  Tom immediately squatted down and gave the bird a big hug. “Stosh, I think you’re half homing pigeon.”

  The bird replied, sounding quite proud of himself. “Dooooo. Doooo-doooo-doooo.”

  Tom ran toward his plant; the Glock and taser he’d planted before walking into the facility. He looked for Presley’s and couldn’t find them.

  Did she come back for her weapons? I sure hope so.

  Then he began jogging to the ladder.

  “Doooooo!”

  A quick look back saw Stosh and Abagail still at the doorway.

  “Home, Stosh. We’re going home.”

  Stosh tapped his beak on the door.

  Bert.

  He doesn’t want to leave his friend.

  “I understand, buddy. Go find Bert. Be careful.”

  Stosh and the turkey trotted back into Esbat.

  Tom trotted in the other direction. He found the ladder and ascended, the pain in his legs distracting him from exhaustion that hit hard. Halfway up he had to take a rest. Sweating, muscles seizing, feeling the bruises spreading from his ankles to his hips.

  Don’t stop. People are depending on you.

  Tom pushed through the pain. Something he knew he should have been doing these last few weeks.

  It’s funny.

  I was being such a baby about my broken fingers.

  And now that isn’t even in my Top 50 concerns.

  Tom eventually hauled himself through the porthole and onto desert sand, chest heaving—

  —and eager to push himself harder.

  The sun had set, but in the distance he saw dancing specks of flames. Tom hurried to the rental car and found a pair of McGlade’s starlight binoculars. Turning them on, he leaned on the hood to steady his elbows, peering into the distance.

  Torches.

  Fabler and Leo were fighting.

  So were Joan and Catherine.

  Why? A double-cross? Were they working with Ziggy?

  He faced the opposite direction and tried to find Team Two.

  Couldn’t.

  Tom pressed his ear radio.

  “This is Team Four. Anyone out there?”

  Nobody replied. Tom felt absolutely, completely alone.

  “Repeat, this is Team Four. We couldn’t locate SoJo and Weejy. Presley confirmed that Bub the demon is at Esbat, but she doesn’t have comms up yet. Ziggy also knew who I am. I was chased out, guards are after me. Bert and Presley and Stosh are still down there. Is anyone hearing this?”

  “This is McGlade, Captain and Almighty Leader. We’ve got our own problems, Tom. Your friends, the Tony Mafia, showed up in a bus. They aren’t happy. Not even the XG5 Volcano Reactor can appease them.”

  Could anything else go wrong? This may have been the worst plan I’ve ever been a part of.

  “How many?”

  “Let’s see, there’s Tony the Handball. Tony Racquetball. Volleyball Tony. Tony That Hates Ballsports. Back Door Tony—he’s a guy I could really get behind. Get it? Butt sex joke. Even outnumbered and outgunned, I’m hysterical.”

  “How about their numbers, McGlade?”

  “Hey!” Harry yelled. “Are any of you Tony Numbers?”

  Tom rubbed his eyes. “Team One and Team Two, can you hear me? Anyone?”

  “We also got Refrigerator Tony. He’s pretty cool. Heh heh. And Tony the Hammer. He absolutely nailed it. Are you hearing me, Tom? These jokes are gold. Oh, and there’s Tony Gold Tooth. He’s eating carrots. Twenty-four carrots! Heh heh. I’m like some kind of unstoppable pun machine.”

  “Please try to stop.”

  “No way to stop. I’m like a pat of butter: I’m on a roll. Look! There’s Tony Two Boats. That guy is pierless. Was that a stretch? A pier joke? Maybe I should have quipped that he doesn’t like pier pressure.”

  “Can you please quit the puns, McGlade?”

  “This is a tense situation, Tom. I ramble in tense situations.”

  “Can you ramble without pressing the radio button?”

  “I cannot.”

  Jesus.

  Tom scanned the horizon again, slower this time, trying to keep his elbows perfectly still.

  “There’s Resting Bitchface Tony. Hey! Resting Bitchface Tony! You pissed about something?”

  “Nah. That’s just my resting bitchface.”

  “Who’s that next to you?”

  “Tony Big Nuts.”

  “Hey! Tony Big Nuts! Why are you called Tony Big Nuts? Show me.”

  Defying everything good and wholesome in the world, Tom couldn’t stop himself from imagining Tony Big Nuts, whipping them out.

  “Holy shit!” McGlade exclaimed. “They’re like two cantaloupes in a pillowcase! How the hell do you find pants that fit?”

  Tom tried to ignore the never-ending Tony nonsense and focus on the terrain. The desert was mostly flat, but from two kilometers away, with the colors washed-out, it was like trying to find a needle in a—

  There! Team Two’s vehicle?

  Tom searched for people.

  “And who are you?” McGlade asked some Tony, queuing up another bad joke.

  “I’m Tony Micropenis.”

  “Let’s see. Come on, let’s see. Show me.”

  Please let Tony Micropenis have some tiny bit of pride and keep his pants on.

  “That’s right! Take that shit off!”

  “Okay. Check this out.”

  Tom cursed humanity.

  Do I really want to save the world? Maybe I should rethink things.

  “I’m still waiting,” McGlade said, not letting this joke end.

  “I’m showing it to you.”

  “Where?”

  “The name is Tony Micropenis, remember?”

  “Oh, snap! I can barely see it! It’s the size of a cashew! It’s like two baby carrots had an even smaller baby, and that baby had the world’s smallest dick!”

  Tom used all of his willpower to stay focused on scanning for his friends.

  “Tony Micropenis, you are my new hero!” McGlade exclaimed in a very McGlade kind of way.

  “Your hero? Why?”

  “You can screw anything! A belly button! A nostril! You could lube up a Froot Loop! You could play ring toss with Spaghetti-Os!”

  “I once made love to some Swiss cheese.”

  “Was it a religious experience?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because it was holey!”

  “You’re amusing, McGlade. But, honestly, the Swiss cheese was disappointing.”

  “Maybe you’re lactose intolerant.”

  “Nah. Just a small dick.”

  “Well, try to avoid the cheddar,” McGlade said. “Sometimes it’s sharp.”

  Ugh. Someone needs to slap that guy.

  Tom saw a figure, and kept his hands still to focus.

  A woman. Sara. Standing alone, looking side-to-side.

  And sneaking up behind her…

  Van. Holding starlight binoculars in one hand. And in the other…

  I think that’s a scalpel.

  Goddammit, I should have trusted my cop instincts with that asshole.

  Tom swiveled back around, spotting Team One.

  Catherine seemed to be kicking Joan’s ass.

  What do I do?

  Go to Joan? She’s the love of my life. She’s pregnant. She’s my everything.

  Or go to Sara? A friend, who is about to get stabbed in the dark by a serial killer.

  Tom didn’t have to think too hard.

  I know who I am. What I want. How I must act.

  I know Joan. What she needs.

  There are still unknowns. There will always be unknowns.

  There will always be things to fear.

  Being afraid is okay.

  Letting fear dictate the course of my life is not okay.

  I will own my fear.

  I will not let fear own me.

  “It’s Tony Late To The Party!” McGlade exclaimed. “I didn’t think you were gonna show up!”

  Tom hopped into the vehicle and gunned it.

  JOAN

  Twenty-Three Hundred Meters Northwest of Area 57 – New Mexico

  Joan wiped a hand over her wet, stinging eyes.

  It’s like cardio. But with bleeding.

  She stared up at her nemesis, who stood against a backdrop of flickering torches.

  I never liked Catherine. The real Catherine.

  But I positively loathe Mary.

  “Let me know if you’re ready to quit, Joan. You can take a nice, long rest while Leo gets the fire going.”

  How many times has she knocked me down?