combination lock in the building. Handy for dropping little love notes into the lockers of cute girls (his buddy Steve's idea, and favorite pastime). But even now, so many years later, he still wanted to know why he could work codes and riddles so easily. Not
how
. He didn't care how, but how
come?
Why should this responsibility have fallen to him?
And it was such an awesome responsibility. He had no formal, written job description. In fact, as far as he knew, there was not a shred of printed information on him anywhere. But in his own mind he'd boiled his job description down to one sentence: Save the world.
Perhaps it was better that this ability had wound itself into the double helix of his DNA instead of his twin brother's. At least, Tom told himself, he used his skill for good. If Loki had been born with such a knack . . . Tom shuddered to think about it. Genetic predisposition was a freaky thing.
Gaia, for example. Her body chemistry was a source of even greater astonishment. It was as if the gods had said, "Let's give her brains, and beauty, and charm, and grace, and physical strength, but hold the fear. No use mucking up the gene pool with that useful emotion."
Again, why?
Tom let out a long rush of breath, expelling the question with the air in his lungs. He'd wondered too hard, too long on that one. Ironic: The only other conundrum besides himself that he couldn't solve was his own daughter.
So instead, he hid from her. And hid her, too.
Apparently not so well.
Because now Loki had her in his sights. And that filthy little street punk, whose ignorance was surpassed only by his willingness to hate, was stalking her.
Tom looked down at the unfinished letter, ran his finger over the greeting.
Dearest Gaia,
His talent had been the cause of his wife's death. Would it now take his daughter's life as well?
Not while there was breath left in his body, he vowed to himself.
He picked up his pen, hesitated, then added another line to the letter.
Daddy's home.
Then, as he did with every other note, letter, and card he'd written to Gaia over the last five years, he stuffed it into a file drawer and locked it away.
Not sending it was hard.
But sending it would make things so much harder.
Slipping a Disk
KUDOS ON THE SUCCESSFUL COMPLE tion of Test One. You are now to commit an act of theft -- a very specific act. George Niven has a computer disk that is of interest to us. You will find this disk and drop it off in Washington Square Park. There will be a man there to receive it. He will be disguised as a homeless man and he will have a cart. Bring the disk to him, Gaia, and do it fast. Time, after all, stops for no man. Not even for Sam ...
"They want me to steal from George," Gaia said, tearing her eyes from the note.
"Huh?" Ed blurted, following along as Gaia hurried down the hall, second period completely forgotten.
"What do they want one of George's disks for?" Gaia wondered aloud. She'd practically forgotten Ed was there. George used to be a Green Beret with her dad, and they'd been in the CIA together. Were the kidnappers somehow connected to the government?
Oh, shit. Maybe George still had connections. Maybe he had nude photos on someone in the Pentagon. Or maybe the disk simply contained his recipe for barbecue sauce, and this was just another sham test, to get her to prove she was in this 100 percent.
But what if it wasn't barbecue sauce? It was possible. After all, she'd sensed that George had always known where her father was. He never said anything; it was just this gut feeling she had. And now that her dad was back in town ...
Could something terrorist-related be going down in Washington Square Park? Something involving CJ and the late Marco, and all those other small-time white-supremacist swine?
And what did any of this have to do with Sam? Why hadn't they just taken her?
If only they had just taken her.
"Gaia, have you heard a word I said?" Ed's voice suddenly broke through her stream of
how
. He didn't care how, but how
come?
Why should this responsibility have fallen to him?
And it was such an awesome responsibility. He had no formal, written job description. In fact, as far as he knew, there was not a shred of printed information on him anywhere. But in his own mind he'd boiled his job description down to one sentence: Save the world.
Perhaps it was better that this ability had wound itself into the double helix of his DNA instead of his twin brother's. At least, Tom told himself, he used his skill for good. If Loki had been born with such a knack . . . Tom shuddered to think about it. Genetic predisposition was a freaky thing.
Gaia, for example. Her body chemistry was a source of even greater astonishment. It was as if the gods had said, "Let's give her brains, and beauty, and charm, and grace, and physical strength, but hold the fear. No use mucking up the gene pool with that useful emotion."
Again, why?
Tom let out a long rush of breath, expelling the question with the air in his lungs. He'd wondered too hard, too long on that one. Ironic: The only other conundrum besides himself that he couldn't solve was his own daughter.
So instead, he hid from her. And hid her, too.
Apparently not so well.
Because now Loki had her in his sights. And that filthy little street punk, whose ignorance was surpassed only by his willingness to hate, was stalking her.
Tom looked down at the unfinished letter, ran his finger over the greeting.
Dearest Gaia,
His talent had been the cause of his wife's death. Would it now take his daughter's life as well?
Not while there was breath left in his body, he vowed to himself.
He picked up his pen, hesitated, then added another line to the letter.
Daddy's home.
Then, as he did with every other note, letter, and card he'd written to Gaia over the last five years, he stuffed it into a file drawer and locked it away.
Not sending it was hard.
But sending it would make things so much harder.
Slipping a Disk
KUDOS ON THE SUCCESSFUL COMPLE tion of Test One. You are now to commit an act of theft -- a very specific act. George Niven has a computer disk that is of interest to us. You will find this disk and drop it off in Washington Square Park. There will be a man there to receive it. He will be disguised as a homeless man and he will have a cart. Bring the disk to him, Gaia, and do it fast. Time, after all, stops for no man. Not even for Sam ...
"They want me to steal from George," Gaia said, tearing her eyes from the note.
"Huh?" Ed blurted, following along as Gaia hurried down the hall, second period completely forgotten.
"What do they want one of George's disks for?" Gaia wondered aloud. She'd practically forgotten Ed was there. George used to be a Green Beret with her dad, and they'd been in the CIA together. Were the kidnappers somehow connected to the government?
Oh, shit. Maybe George still had connections. Maybe he had nude photos on someone in the Pentagon. Or maybe the disk simply contained his recipe for barbecue sauce, and this was just another sham test, to get her to prove she was in this 100 percent.
But what if it wasn't barbecue sauce? It was possible. After all, she'd sensed that George had always known where her father was. He never said anything; it was just this gut feeling she had. And now that her dad was back in town ...
Could something terrorist-related be going down in Washington Square Park? Something involving CJ and the late Marco, and all those other small-time white-supremacist swine?
And what did any of this have to do with Sam? Why hadn't they just taken her?
If only they had just taken her.
"Gaia, have you heard a word I said?" Ed's voice suddenly broke through her stream of
Similar Books
Bound By Wolves (Impregnated By The Wolves Part 1)
Bree Bellucci
The Summoner:
Layton Green
If the Shoe Fits
Amber T. Smith
Looking for Lucy Jo
Suzy Turner
Shepherd
Piers Anthony
Peter the Great
Robert K. Massie
Falling Fast
Sophie McKenzie
Deathwatch
Robb White
Just His Type (Part One)
Victoria June
Nancy and Plum
Betty MacDonald