“Fucking redheads,” he muttered as the exes tore open her stomach. “All you bitches are gonna die.”
According to the mailboxes in the lobby, Barracks Eight housed one hundred-ninety-nine soldiers. At least half of them should be sleeping until night duties began. The ten exes on the fourth floor split into two groups of three and one of four. They opened the first three doors after the armory and stalked in to grab the off-duty soldiers.
All three rooms were empty. There were dusty beds and photos covered with cobwebs. The papers on one sun-lit desk were yellow and faded. Some of the exes checked closets and raised clouds in the air as they batted at the hanging clothes.
The next three rooms were the same. And the next three. And the last six.
So were all the rooms on the third floor.
The top two floors were deserted. They had been for months by the look of them. Maybe years.
“What,” said the dead lieutenant, “the fuck?”
On the second floor they found a bakers dozen of soldiers trying to sleep in warm rooms with the blinds drawn against the brilliant day. They died, groggy and unarmed, before most of them realized what was going on. In the carnage, the dead lieutenant forgot the top floors.
*
Smith cranked open the blinds in his office. Freedom was confident he’d have all the heroes in custody within the hour, but Smith wasn’t so sure. Stealth had already escaped once, and he knew Danielle was a lot cleverer than anyone gave her credit for. She didn’t need the battlesuit to be dangerous. Classic mistake, to assume your opponent’s helpless because they don’t have a weapon.
And he had no idea what they were going to do with St. George. The reinforced cells they’d built in case some of the super soldiers got out of line wouldn’t be enough. Hopefully the hero wouldn’t be too resistant to what Smith had to say and they’d all be on the same side again soon.
Smith opened the other set of blinds and the last shadows became distinct shapes.
“Well,” he said. He took a breath and collected his thoughts. “This is a surprise.”
“It is important that I speak with you,” said Stealth. She brushed her cloak back. Without her weapons and harnesses, she was just a shapely outline.
“Okay,” he said. He sat down and set his hands on the desk. “Talk.”
“Move your hands away from the phone.”
He slid his palms over to the desk lamp. “Go ahead.”
“Project Krypton is facing an imminent attack from within. The neural stimulator units do not work, and in fact have never worked. The ex-soldiers are being controlled by an individual named Rodney Casares, also known as Peasy.”
Smith’s brow furrowed. “The superhuman who attacked you last year in Los Angeles,” he said. “I thought he was dead.”
“His body was destroyed, but it appears his ability to project his consciousness into the undead has allowed him to survive. He is here and he has close to a thousand exes inside your fence line to work with. You must instruct the Army to place the base on high alert and begin the systematic destruction of all ex-soldiers.”
Smith’s fingers drummed the desktop. “My first instinct,” he said, “would be to think you’re trying to cover for leaving Colonel Shelly in a hospital bed.”
“Colonel Shelly is dead,” said Stealth. “Doctor Sorensen has been lying to you.”
Smith looked confused for a moment, but then his practiced smile appeared. “Go on, please,” he said.
“It would appear the doctor is in league with Peasy, and has known all along the Nest units do not work. He also may have manipulated several events here at Krypton to suit his purposes.”
The agent shook his head. “Sorensen has trouble manipulating silverware. He’s a brilliant man, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not pulling any strings behind the curtain.” He tilted his head. “That’s a mixed metaphor, isn’t it?”
She heard the sound of metal on metal in the hall and turned. Harrison, Taylor, and Polk burst into the office, rifles up. Taylor and Polk kept her covered while the staff sergeant moved to Smith. “Are you okay, sir?”
“Fine, thank you, sergeant,” he stood up and brushed a few wrinkles from his suit. “Excellent response time.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He looked at Stealth and gestured to the desk. “The panic button’s in the base of the lamp, if you were wondering.”
“You are making a mistake,” she said.
Smith looked back at Harrison. “Can you make sure Captain Freedom knows you caught her? And that she confessed to the attack in front of you?”
“Of course, sir.”
“I have done no such thing,” said Stealth.
Smith’s eyes went up and down her body. “Would you agree we may need to replace all the military police with super-soldiers for now? She seemed to escape with very little effort last time, didn’t she?”
Harrison gave a sharp nod. “My squad can take over immediately, sir.”
“Then take your prisoner into custody, sergeant.”