Draven’s breath whooshes out of him.
“Hey!” I yell at Jeremy as he shoves Draven off him and climbs to his feet.
I expect him to kick or hit Draven again. Instead, Jeremy staggers toward the van, weaving drunkenly from all the punches he’s taken.
When the beeps start again, Jeremy reaches for something and the sound cuts out mid-pattern.
Without the energy of another battle going on beside them, the fight goes out of Nitro and Dante. Nitro shoots his latest fireball—a crazy swirl of green and blue—off into the trees. Dante lets his tornado twist away into nothingness. Rebel lowers Nitro back down to the pavement, and the two villains stare each other down, breathing heavily.
Rebel throws her hands up in the air, as if to say, Finally.
“Where are you going?” I demand when I notice Jeremy climbing into the van.
Seriously? I just saved his butt, and he’s going to bail?
He waves me away, but Rebel isn’t letting him off that easy. “I know this whole thing was crazy, Jer, but we can’t—”
“Shut up!” he snaps.
Draven’s eyes narrow and he starts for the van. I have visions of another fight breaking out and move to throw myself between him and Jeremy, but I don’t have to. Jeremy presses a finger to his lips. He’s holding a device in his other hand that looks like a walkie-talkie, and voices are coming from it. Familiar voices. Familiar hero voices.
“Listen,” Jeremy whispers harshly. “Someone’s in Mr. Malone’s office.”
The bug. Oh, God. The bug Rebel and I planted is actually working. I’ve been so caught up in our failure that I completely forgot about our success. I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.
Rebel and I crowd around to listen, and seconds later the villains join us. The walkie-talkie has gone silent except for the clicking of keyboard keys. We hold our breath waiting to hear if there’s going to be any more talking.
Jeremy opens the passenger door, pulls out his laptop, and sets it on the front seat. I wish I could say it’s the first time I’ve lost shotgun to one of his computers. A few keystrokes later, he opens a remote desktop mirror and his screen shows everything that is happening on Mr. Malone’s monitor. All of us watch in shock as Rebel’s dad types a memo to the officers of the Collective.
June 21
To: Superhero Collective
From: Rex Malone
Subject: ESH Lab Closure
Recent occurrences have brought to light villain knowledge of the ESH Lab at location Bravo Charlie. Therefore, it is my recommendation that we close the Boulder facility immediately and indefinitely.
This is not a decision I make lightly, as doing so will inconvenience many of our staff members, as well as disrupt numerous top-priority experiments and projects. However, we have had multiple security breaches during these last few days, and for the sake of our research, as well as the future security of the League, it is necessary.
As of 8 p.m. on June twenty-fourth, the doors of this lab will be shut. All research and activities will be relocated to Lima Whiskey. Every effort will be made to do this with as little disruption to our scientists and their work as possible. We will use all safety precautions to ensure that the secrecy of the new facility remains unaffected by this move.
Thank you for your understanding in this matter. I will make every effort to keep you updated on our plans and progress once the move is complete.
Rex Malone
League President
cc: file, TR, SecLev5
The typing stops and we all watch as Mr. Malone saves the memo and emails it to the ten Collective officers who serve with him. He blind-copies two other addresses that aren’t on League domains. Seconds later, he logs out, and the League logo screen saver bounces around on Jeremy’s laptop like a shield-shaped ping-pong ball.
“Is it done?” a harsh voice from the speaker asks.
“Yes,” Mr. Malone answers. “It’s just a precaution, but I think it’s wise. It never pays to be careless with villains.”
“I agree. Some of our research is…quite delicate in nature. We would hate for it to fall into the wrong hands.”
“Exactly.”
There are a few unidentifiable sounds, followed by the clatter of ice cubes and the slosh of pouring liquid. A lid is screwed back on. Mr. Malone swallows deeply.
There are a couple of clicks. A door opens and shuts. And then there’s nothing. Just silence as the six of us continue to stare at the computer, the knock-down, drag-out fight forgotten in the wake of these much larger, more worrisome problems.
Jeremy sets down the walkie-talkie and begins typing furiously.
“June twenty-fourth,” Rebel hisses after a minute. “That’s—”
“Three days away,” Dante finishes for her.
“Three days and Deacon will be gone,” Draven says.