“Okay, lover boy,” he spat at Desh. “Let’s see how brave you are when it comes to my sister.”
Alan walked rapidly to a desk and returned with a sharply pointed silver letter-opener. Without warning he plunged it savagely into his sister’s arm.
Kira issued a startled shriek as blood began to soak her sweatshirt.
Alan wrapped his left forearm tightly around his sister’s neck from behind and extended his right arm in front of her, the now bloody letter-opener pointed at her face. “Tell me exactly what’s going on,” he barked at Desh. “The first time I even suspect you’re lying to me, she loses an eye.”
Desh looked into Alan’s eyes and had no doubt he would do it. He would enjoy doing it. “I set you up,” said Desh quickly.
“Impossible,” said Alan, holding the point of the letter-opener a few inches from his sister’s left eye and slowly moving it forward.
“I used one of Kira’s pills,” said Desh hurriedly, desperate to convince Alan he was telling the truth. “That’s how we escaped from Putnam’s safe house.”
Alan’s eyes narrowed. He lowered the letter opener as he considered this new information worriedly. Without saying anything more, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a gellcap, and hurriedly swallowed it.
“You know the awesome ability of an enhanced mind to see patterns and make connections,” continued Desh. “And I’m not your sister, whose every memory is of the saintly Alan Miller. Kira was at the epicenter of the deaths of her parents and uncle and teachers—but so was her brother. And there was nothing left of your body but ashes. Very convenient. I realized this exact endgame was a likely possibility immediately. The most likely possibility. My surprised reactions since you arrived at Putnam’s have been nothing but an act.”
Kira Miller couldn’t hide her shock.
“You’re lying,” snapped Alan. “I can tell from Kira’s reaction.”
“She didn’t know.”
“You suspected all of this and you didn’t tell her?” said Alan in disbelief.
“There was a chance I was wrong,” replied Desh. “That Putnam was behind everything and the situation was exactly as it had been portrayed. I didn’t want to give Kira false hopes that the bomb implant was a fake, or tarnish her memory of you if I was wrong.” Desh paused. “There was also one other consideration,” he said, trying to stall by divulging information as piecemeal as he thought he could get away with.
“What?” snapped Alan impatiently.
Desh paused for another second before answering. “I wanted her reactions to be real,” he said. “The same with Griffin and Metzger. When the explosive device failed to go off, when you arrived, I couldn’t count on their acting abilities. I didn’t want to tip you off that I was on to you.”
Alan shook his head vigorously. “Bullshit!” he snapped. “If you suspected, you wouldn’t have let Kira give you the GPS coordinates, and you wouldn’t have let me capture you.”
“Think again, psycho,” said Desh in contempt. “I didn’t know how to find you. I needed you to reveal yourself. And I wanted you to brag about your achievements so I could be sure I hadn’t missed anything.” Desh raised his eyebrows. “Not to mention that I detected your implanted cochlear recorders while I was enhanced and used my immune system to deactivate them.” He smiled broadly. “Who’s feeling manipulated now, asshole!” he spat hatefully.
Gunfire continued to rage unabated on the lush, well-tended acreage surrounding the mansion, now transformed into a killing field, violated by explosions and countless bullets, and fertilized with copious amounts of blood.
Alan glared at Desh. “Make no mistake,” he barked. “Whatever is happening outside, my men will handle it. And in just a few minutes I’ll be transformed and able to slip out of any noose.”
“Don’t count on it,” said Desh.
“Who are they?” demanded Alan. “Even if you suspected me, you couldn’t have set me up. You couldn’t possibly know where I live. And no one followed us here. I’m sure of it.”
“Wrong again, asshole,” hissed Desh. “Before we broke into Putnam’s house, I had a private conversation with my friend the colonel. I knew you would spot the RV. How could you not? I told him to take one of Kira’s pills at the first hint of trouble. I outlined how it would be possible to fake his own death.” Desh winked. “I’m sure you know that when you’re enhanced you can control your heart rate. Smear blood on your head, pretend to be dead, and don’t have a pulse when someone is checking for it. Presto, you’re declared dead.” Desh raised his eyebrows. “But to give credit where it’s due,” he continued. “I did get the idea of faking Connelly’s death from you, Alan.” He smiled mockingly. “Thanks.”