“Yeah,” Cody said from the doorway. “It was an odd choice. Why take out a bunch of accountants, then move on to the mayor?”
“But this is not a good enough reason to change our plans,” Abraham added, shaking his head. He nodded to me, enormous gun over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful person, my friend, but I do not think we should base decisions on information given by someone we only just met.”
“Megan?” Prof asked. “What do you think?”
I glanced at her. Megan sat a little apart from the others. Prof and Tia seemed the most senior of this particular cell of the Reckoners. Abraham and Cody often chimed in their thoughts, as close friends would. But what of Megan?
“I think this is stupid,” she said, her voice cold.
I frowned. But … just a few minutes ago, she was the friendliest toward me!
“You stood up for him before,” Abraham said, as if voicing my own thoughts.
That made her scowl. “That was before I heard this wild story. He’s lying, trying to get onto our team.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but a glance from Prof made me bite off the comment.
“You sound like you’re considering it,” Cody said to Prof.
“Prof?” Tia said. “I know that look. Remember what happened with Duskwatch.”
“I remember,” he said. He studied me further.
“What?” Tia asked.
“He knows about the rescue workers,” Prof said.
“The rescue workers?” Cody asked.
“Steelheart covered up that he killed the rescue workers,” Prof said softly. “Few know of what he did to them and the survivors—of what happened at the First Union building. He didn’t kill anyone who went to help at other city buildings he’d destroyed. He only killed the rescue workers at First Union.
“Something is different about his destruction of the bank,” Prof continued. “We know he entered that one, and spoke to the people inside. He didn’t do that elsewhere. They say he came out of First Union enraged. Something happened inside. I’ve known that for a while. The other cell leaders know it as well. We assumed that whatever made him angry had to do with Deathpoint.” Prof sat with one hand on his knee, and he tapped his finger in thought, studying me. “Steelheart got his scar that day. Nobody knows how.”
“I do,” I said.
“Perhaps,” Prof said.
“Perhaps,” Megan said. “Perhaps not. Prof, he could have heard of the murders and known of Steelheart’s scar, then fabricated the rest! There’d be no way to prove it, because if he’s right, then he and Steelheart are the only witnesses.”
Prof nodded slowly.
“Hitting Steelheart would be near impossible,” Abraham said. “Even if we could figure out his weakness, he’s got guards. Strong ones.”
“Firefight, Conflux, and Nightwielder,” I said, nodding. “I’ve got a plan for dealing with each of them. I think I’ve figured out their weaknesses.”
Tia frowned. “You have?”
“Ten years,” I said softly. “For ten years, all I’ve done is plan how to get to him.”
Prof still seemed thoughtful. “Son,” he said to me. “What did you say your name was?”
“David.”
“Well, David. You guessed we were going to hit Fortuity. What would you guess we’d do next?”
“You’ll leave Newcago by nightfall,” I said immediately. “That’s always what a team does after springing a trap. Of course, there is no nightfall here. But you’ll be gone in a few hours, then go rejoin the rest of the Reckoners.”
“And what would be the next Epic we’d be planning to hit?” Prof asked.
“Well,” I said, thinking quickly, remembering my lists and projections. “None of your teams have been active in the Middle Grasslands or Caliph lately. I’d guess your next target would be either the Armsman in Omaha, or Lightning, one of the Epics in Snowfall’s band out in Sacramento.”
Cody whistled softly. Apparently I’d guessed pretty well—which was fortunate. I hadn’t been too sure. I tended to be right about a quarter of the time lately, guessing where Reckoner cells would strike.
Prof suddenly moved to stand. “Abraham, prep Hole Fourteen. Cody, see if you can get a false trail set up that will lead to Caliph.”
“Hole Fourteen?” Tia said. “We’re staying in the city?”
“Yes,” Prof said.
“Jon,” Tia said, addressing Prof. His real name, probably. “I can’t—”