Chapter 21
Colt stood in one of the tunnels beneath Tesla Stadium waiting for his cue to take the field with the rest of the flight team. He could see members of the Virginia Tech marching band as they performed a medley of songs from the original Star Wars soundtrack in front of a capacity crowd that had grown well beyond standing room only.
Three thousand more had gathered outside the gates of the academy, all hoping to catch even a glimpse of the historic moment when the Phantom Flyer and his Agents of CHAOS would take to the skies for the first time in over fifty years.
Becoming the official symbol of hope in the fight against the Thule should have made Colt nervous. The president of the United States was going to be in attendance, along with a laundry list of politicians, corporate leaders, musicians, and actors, and all of them wanted to meet him after the show. And everything was going to be broadcast in more than two hundred countries and thirty languages, to a viewership that was supposed to eclipse one hundred million. But all he could think about was Lily Westcott. Her eyes. Her smile. Even the scent of her shampoo.
He wanted to slip away and head back to Arizona right then and there, but the campus was swarming with agents from the CIA, FBI, DAA, and Secret Service, not to mention the heavily armed members of Delta Force. They were all there to make sure nothing happened to Colt, which meant that all eyes were on him.
“Looks like the president’s motorcade has arrived,” Colt heard Captain Starling announce through the speakers inside his helmet.
“You mean his body double?” Oz said.
There were rumors that the president had employed a team of shape-shifting Thule to stand in for him during any public appearances, while he and his family hid in an underground bunker—which seemed odd, considering that all of humanity was at war with the Thule.
“I can pretty much guarantee you that the Secret Service is monitoring this frequency, genius,” Danielle said.
Oz shrugged. “What are they going to do, arrest me for telling the truth? Besides, if they haven’t locked me away by now, I doubt it’s ever going to happen.”
The sound of footsteps echoed through the tunnel, and when Colt turned around he saw three men in black suits and mirrored sunglasses, each with a white earpiece and a stoic expression.
“Told you they were listening,” Danielle said, but the Secret Service agents walked past Oz.
“Cadet McAlister?” the lead agent asked as he approached Colt. He was older than the other two, with cropped gray hair and skin so pale that Colt wondered if he was a vampire.
Oz, who had never been much for diplomacy, stood in front of Colt with his arms folded across his massive chest. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Agent Marz, and this is Agent Denton. The gentleman with the briefcase is Agent Galloway.” He paused a moment, as though waiting for Oz to introduce himself, but he didn’t. “We’re going to need Cadet McAlister to remove his helmet and one of his gloves.”
“I don’t think so,” Oz said.
Agent Marz was at least six inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter than Oz, but if he was intimidated, he didn’t show it. “Please step aside, son.”
“Uh-oh,” Danielle said, her voice barely a whisper as it carried over the comlink. “This is about to get ugly.”
Oz narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils. “I’m not your son,” he said, the words spilling from his lips like a growl.
“What’s going on down there?” Captain Starling said through his comlink.
“We have a bit of an issue,” Glyph said, the pitch of his voice betraying his nerves. “Members of the Secret Service have arrived, and they are asking—”
“Yes, I heard what they asked,” Captain Starling said. “What I want to know is why.”
“Excuse me,” Glyph said, raising his unusually long index finger as he shuffled toward the agents. “I hate to be a bother, but Captain Starling—he’s the . . . I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten the title that he asked us to use.”
“Executive producer,” Danielle said, rolling her eyes.
“Ah, yes,” Glyph said with a nod. “The executive producer of the show would like to inquire as to the nature of your business with Cadet McAlister.”
“According to our records, we’ve tested the entire campus, with one exception.”
Colt’s eyes went wide, and his heart started to thrum behind his rib cage. The Secret Service had arrived early that morning to run everyone from cadets and instructors to dishwashers and maintenance workers through a series of tests to determine if any shapeshifters had infiltrated the campus prior to the president’s arrival.
Colt’s status as the next Phantom Flyer was public knowledge, but the fact that Thule DNA flowed through his bloodstream was not. The last thing the government wanted was for the American people to find out that their savior was anything but human, and Superintendent Thorne had assured Colt that he wouldn’t be tested. Apparently Agent Marz didn’t get the memo.
“Where’s Superintendent Thorne?” Captain Starling asked, his voice borderline shrill.
Colt could picture his face turning red and the veins in his neck starting to pop out.
“What about Giru Ba or Lohr? Please tell me there’s a faculty member down there with you.”
“Not at the moment,” Glyph said, his head swiveling on his long neck as he searched the room.
“This is a disaster,” Captain Starling said. “Whatever you do, don’t let them run that test, and that’s an order. Do you hear me?”
“Um . . . sir, does that mean you’re asking us to engage in conflict?” Glyph asked.
“That’s exactly what he’s asking,” Oz said, dropping his arms as his hands formed into fists. “So listen, Agent Marz, is it?” He took a step toward the agent. “I’m afraid you and your clones are going to have to leave. We’re about to put on a show for the entire world, and you’re kind of breaking our concentration.”
“That won’t be possible,” Agent Marz said. “Please step aside.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I won’t tell you again.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Oz said as the flight team surrounded the Secret Service agents, each of them in full fight gear.
“All we need is a blood sample,” Agent Marz said as he opened the left side of his jacket, revealing a handgun in a chest holster.
“Fine,” Colt said, removing his glove as he pushed past Oz. He’d already lost his parents, and he was about to watch his friends get shot because they were trying to make sure his secret didn’t get out.
“What are you doing?” Oz reached out and grabbed Colt by the shoulder, but Colt pulled away. “It’s not going to happen.”
“That’s enough.”
Everyone turned to see Murdoch McAlister walk through the door, followed by Superintendent Thorne and Giru Ba.
“Finally,” Oz said. “Will you tell these jerks that—”
“I said that’s enough, and I meant it,” Grandpa said, cutting him off.
“Agent Marz, I’m afraid you won’t be able to test Cadet McAlister today for reasons that I’m unable to discuss,” Superintendent Thorne said.
“With all due respect—”
“I understand that you have a job to do,” she said, raising her hand to cut him off. “But if you check with your supervisor, you’ll see that the order comes from an authority greater than all of us.”
“God told you not to test his blood?” Glyph said, the awe in his voice unmistakable.
The usually unflappable director started to smile. “No, Cadet Glyph. The directive came from the Office of the President.”
“It checks out,” Agent Denton said, and Colt felt all of the tension leave his body.