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  A volley of bullets came, tearing into the gunman’s hand and forearm. He let out a guttural scream as flesh and bone were torn to shreds.

  The Glock fell harmlessly to the floor. Wyatt scrambled to his feet and retrieved it out of the thick foam. He pointed it down at the would-be assassin’s head.

  The man from the doorway sloshed his way through the foam and joined him. Wyatt held out his hand and they shook.

  “Senator Hartford, I presume?”

  “Yes, that’s me alright. Thank God I didn’t hit you. And, thank God you’re one of the good guys! I fired on pure instinct and it looks like I’m a better shot than I thought.”

  “You are. Thanks, Senator. For the shots…and for the foam, too. I’m assuming that was your mischief as well?”

  John grinned. “Yeah. Worked pretty good, huh?”

  “Gave me a bit of an advantage for a few precious seconds.”

  John nodded down at the floor. “What about him?”

  The killer had pressed his mangled arm between his legs, wincing in pain.

  He forced out the words he wanted them to hear. “This…job is…done. Don’t worry, it’s…cancelled. Let me go…and…you won’t have to worry.”

  Wyatt frowned down at him. “Didn’t I hear your partner say that a hit can never be cancelled?”

  “That…was him…talking. Not…me.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. There’s only one way your hit on the senator can be cancelled. And, this is it.”

  Wyatt leaned down and placed the barrel of the killer’s own gun against his temple.

  Then, he calmly fired one bullet into his brain.

  Chapter 52

  The sling was on a pulley system.

  Actually, the sling itself looked like a hammock, although this hammock wasn’t designed for leisurely naps.

  It folded down neatly from inside the top of the shaft and then jerked and shook its way to the lowest level, guided by human hands on red colored levers.

  The lowest level was number four.

  The first level contained the four apartment units, the second level was dedicated to composting, and the third level was the massive vegetable garden.

  But, sixty feet below the apartment units was level four, and there was a reason why it was the deepest point in the underground complex.

  It was the last one anyone alive would want to visit.

  Unless they absolutely had to.

  And, today, Wyatt and John had to.

  They volunteered to sling the four dead bodies down to level four, which was the mausoleum floor. John worked the pulley system from the top and Wyatt handled the transfer down below.

  The bodies of the two mangled killers were taken down first and Wyatt placed them in two of the dozen or so concrete coffins.

  Next came Derik’s body.

  And, finally, Gerndle’s.

  Wyatt had never seen Allison cry before. The history that she’d had with Gerndle and Derik was a beautiful one, and of course her father had been very close with them before Allison had entered the picture.

  They had been loyal employees for decades, but more than that, they’d been like family.

  While the desperate struggles were going on in the crypt, Allison had covered Gerndle with her own body to not only protect her from more harm, but also to shield her eyes from what was going on. Since she’d already suffered what appeared to be a heart attack after seeing her husband shot dead, the sight of more violent images was the last thing Allison wanted her to witness.

  But, it didn’t matter. When the danger was over and Allison had pulled herself off her, Gerndle had already passed away.

  Wyatt was saddened to see her so upset, but, strangely—or, maybe not so strangely—it also made him feel closer to her.

  They sat together on the foam-covered floor for at least half an hour, and he held her tight as she sobbed uncontrollably. Once in a while, she’d utter a memory of Gerndle and Derik—things they’d done together as families, the wine-tasting festivals that they’d hosted in Osoyoos, and the celebratory nature of harvest times.

  She had wonderful memories of them, and, while it was good for her to speak of them, every memory made her cry just a little bit harder.

  Wyatt knew by now that he was in love with Allison, but the woman he thought he’d fallen for was only the tip of the iceberg. Beneath that efficient, take-charge exterior was a woman with deep emotions, and this was the first time he’d seen that side of her.

  Her ability to cry and lament her loss, her willingness to show weakness in front of him.

  He cried right along with her, even though he hadn’t even known the couple. But, he wasn’t crying for them—he was crying for Allison. For her loss, and for her humanity.

  And, he cried because he just loved her so darn much, and on this day he’d come so close to losing her. The inner release of that fear of loss brought a cavalcade of tears in concert with hers. It was the most intimate moment he’d ever shared with a woman, and it had taken place in the most unexpected of places, at the most unexpected of times.

  When Wyatt and John had finished their gruesome task, they made their way back up to the apartment on level one.

  Allison, Willy, and Helen were sitting at the kitchen table; Willy naked from the waist up.

  Allison and Helen were examining his shoulder wound. The tall killer had delivered a shot directly into Willy’s upper shoulder, and while it had spun him around at the time, it hadn’t seemed to impair his ability to fight back. And, fight back he had. In spades.

  “How’s the patient?”

  Willy smiled. “I’m okay, son. No big deal.”

  “Dad, a bullet is always a big deal.”

  “No, I just got grazed.”

  Allison laughed. “It wasn’t a graze, Willy. It went clear through you and out the other side.”

  She turned to Wyatt and beckoned him closer with her index finger.

  “Come here. Take a look at this.”

  Wyatt took a seat beside his dad at the table, and examined the shoulder wound that Allison was pointing to.

  It had completely healed over. No blood, no holes, just scar areas on the front of his shoulder and on the back where the bullet had come out. They already looked like old scars, not red or raw like you’d expect with recent wounds.

  Like he’d had them for years.

  Wyatt looked up at Allison. “DNA?”

  She nodded. “Yep. Just another little surprise. He’s healed up good as new. No loss of movement either. When he moves his shoulder, he doesn’t feel any pain at all.”

  John Hartford slid his finger over one of the scars. “Actually, quite smooth, too. So, Willy went through the same thing that your father did, Allison?”

  “Yes, but at a different place, different time. My dad was on the HMS Diana when it happened, and Willy got beamed during the Korean War.”

  “And, your dad used to get transparent like I saw in Willy up there in the crypt? And, with the same kind of strength?”

  She grimaced. “Yes. Identical. Although, I never saw him heal over from injuries like this. Getting shot isn’t a normal injury, of course. Usually there’s muscle damage, infection. In Willy’s case, there’s nothing except the scars. He’s completely healed—and in a matter of just a couple of hours. It’s absolutely amazing.”

  Willy laughed. “Okay, it’s not that amazing.” He pulled his shirt back on. “I’m tired of being a lab rat here. Let’s eat something. I’m hungry from all that exercise up there.”

  Allison stood up. “Well, since the good senator has been holed up here for a few days, maybe he can whip something up for us. He knows where everything is by now.”

  John rubbed his hands together. “Oh, boy. I love cooking. If you’ll all trust me, I have some wonderful steaks already thawed. And, we have some fresh veggies that I picked from the garden level. Sound good?”

  Somber nods from around the table.

  Wyatt opened the fridge
and took out a can of beer. The cold can felt good against the palms of his hands, which were starting to feel like they were on fire.

  “I’ll help you, John. But, first, I think we need to talk about next steps before we all eat and doze off. We’ve had a disturbing day, to say the least, and I know we’re all avoiding talking about that. Which is probably a good thing. But...we have some serious times ahead of us.”

  He nodded in Allison’s direction. “Sorry, dear, but I’m looking at you. We need you right now.”

  She inserted her index fingers into her ears, and immediately popped them back out again. Wyatt could feel her eyes boring into him—not in an angry way; more just penetrating, deep, challenging. He felt strange.

  He put down the beer and started rubbing his hands together—a fiery tingly feeling was cascading up and down his fingers. He went over to the sink and ran them under cold water.

  Allison gestured to John and Wyatt. “Sit down at the table, guys. And, John, turn the dimmer down on the light. I want to try a little exercise here with our remote viewer.”

  Wyatt scratched his head. “You told me before that you had some plan for me to use that skill. But, I don’t think it will work. It only happened once, that time when Mom was kidnapped.”

  “Shush…it will work. Just concentrate on what I’m about to say. I’ve worked with many remote viewers over the years. They never think it can be turned on, but it can be. Most are afraid to admit they even have the power, but it’s the most sensational of all the psychic skills. And, you received yours from the altered DNA of your father, just like I received my mind-reading skill from the altered DNA of my own dad.”

  “The one time it worked for you was under stressful circumstances. You’ve just endured an entire day of stress, so the environment is perfect for you.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I’m not feeling or seeing a damn thing.”

  “Oh, yes you are. I’m reading your mind right now. For the last few minutes, you’ve been feeling tingly, your fingers are on fire. I saw you squeeze the life out of that cold can of beer, and, for no apparent reason, you ran your hands under the tap.

  “’I know what’s going on. It’s happened the same way with other remote viewers, and it happened before with you—that fiery tingly feeling was with you out in the alley behind your dad’s house when Helen was kidnapped.”

  Her brilliant blue eyes were still boring into him, and all of a sudden they felt strangely hypnotic.

  “I want you to make a connection, Wyatt. Hold Willy’s hand—tightly. As soon as you do, I want you to concentrate on the anxiety you might feel for your father if he were outside, sometime in the not too distant future.

  “I want you to picture him standing on the top of a mountain, looking off to the west. Sometime in the future. If you can pin it down, that would be great. But, doesn’t matter. I want you to focus on a stressful time through your father’s eyes, outside, surveying the world around him. Perhaps it will be just as simple as a mere thunderstorm. If that’s the case, we can all feel more at ease. Allow your brain to peak at the most stressful moment your father may experience, and repeat out loud to us what you see while you’re seeing it.”

  Wyatt nodded. He understood what she was trying to do. And, she was right. The fiery tingly feeling was in his hands the same way it had been during the kidnapping ordeal, when he’d been able to soar above the route of the bad guys all the way to their farmhouse.

  Worth a try.

  Willy held out his hand and Wyatt grasped it, making a joint fist together.

  Then, he closed his eyes.

  At first, the only thing he noticed was that the tingling had stopped.

  But, suddenly, an electric jolt ran up his arm and into his neck. He trembled, gasped at the flash of pain. It only lasted a second or two, but it was how he envisioned what it would feel like if he stuck his finger in a light socket.

  As suddenly as it came, it went.

  He was soaring now. Along the treeline towards the base of a mountain. It was the tallest mountain in his vision and he steered his body towards it. He knew that was where his father would be.

  He could almost feel the tops of the trees scraping his stomach as he steered his body along the rolling foothills. Then, up the mountain slope until he reached the snow-capped peak.

  Hovering in the air now, he looked from side to side.

  Then, he saw him.

  Standing on top of a craggy rock, on the highest point of the mountain, with his arms spread out as if reaching for the sky. His back was to him, and he was gazing off towards the west.

  Towards the Pacific Ocean.

  Wyatt swooped forward and, just like a magnet, he was sucked in.

  Sucked into his father’s body.

  Looking to the west.

  His dad’s eyes were now his own, and he could feel the sensation in Willy’s brain, and the electricity in his arms as they reached for the sky.

  There was a connection…with something. Almost magnetic.

  He gazed right into the setting Sun, even though he knew that was a dangerous thing to do.

  But, it seemed okay, it seemed safe.

  He could see the fiery ball clearly. There were no chemtrails in the sky, which was unusual. The Sun was the clearest it had ever been, even to the point of the gaseous filaments leaping outwards from the surface.

  Suddenly, he felt a jolt through his body as his eyes wandered to the left. There was another ball in the sky, poking out through the filaments. Not a Sun…something else. Huge, ominous, dark and brooding. Despite seeming so close to the Sun, it wasn’t reflecting any light. It was illuminated on the outer edges, but not all aglow like the Moon normally looked.

  His eyes moved to a lateral view now—directly westward. Towards the Pacific.

  His knees felt weak as the scene in his vision assaulted his senses. At first glance, the ocean seemed very far away, too far to see any detail. But, just as if looking through a telescope or binoculars, the scene quickly magnified.

  It was now right in front of him.

  A wall of water that was still far out from shore, perhaps a few hundred miles. But, the magnification allowed him to observe the swirling cauldron, the power of its force.

  The wall was getting taller by the second. Normally, scale would be a hard thing to determine, but, in this weird vision absorbing his brain, the scale was strangely obvious.

  His brain was telling him how high the wall of water was.

  It gave him scale, something that was already in his brain from what Allison had told him about where she lived in Chicago. And, from the photos he’d browsed on his computer out of curiosity.

  After all, he was in love with her. Why wouldn’t he want to see where she lived?

  Even though she didn’t live near the ocean, this disturbing vision of calamity put her building right there. Right in front of the massive wave as if it were floating on water.

  To give him scale.

  From atop the highest mountain in the Rockies, Wyatt, through the eyes of his father, watched in horror as the giant swirling wave completely overwhelmed the ninety-two storey Trump Tower.

  Chapter 53

  She’d been topside for three hours.

  Wyatt had made several trips up the ladder just to make sure she was okay. Paranoid that perhaps other assassins had arrived to take the place of the two they’d killed.

  Each time he’d made his climb, Allison was on her cell phone, pacing back and forth in the main lobby of the winery. She impatiently waved him off each time he tried to interrupt.

  She looked worried, agitated. Put her finger up to her lips to shut him up.

  He knew something was wrong.

  She had climbed to the outside world right after Wyatt had finished his ‘remote viewing’ episode. Said she had to call her CERN contact, who Wyatt now knew was Cardinal Valenti, the managing director at the Vatican’s Arizona observatory.

  Allison insisted that Wyatt and the others stay do
wn in the bunker, and said that she wouldn’t be long.

  That was three hours ago.

  Wyatt’s vision of the calamity that was to come had left everyone silent—except for their heavy breathing. When he emerged from his vision, he could see that every face in the room had taken on a shade resembling a pale August moon.

  Allison hadn’t even let him finish his remote viewing session. After he’d described his vision of the giant tidal wave, she shook him out of his trance.

  “That’s enough,” she said. “We don’t need to hear any more.”

  Then, she picked up her phone and was gone.

  After the shock of Wyatt’s eerie travelogue had sunk in, Willy and Helen tried distracting themselves by wandering around the spacious apartment.

  Senator Hartford’s way of coping was pouring himself a glass of whisky, raising his eyebrows at Wyatt in a silent invitation. He nodded eagerly.

  They sat in the living room and raised their glasses.

  “What should we toast to, Chief?”

  Wyatt allowed a weak chuckle. “I guess there ain’t much left, Senator.”

  “No, that’s not right. We all now know about this CERN plan. While it sounds ridiculously impossible, it’s at least a faint hope.”

  “Okay, let’s toast to ‘faint hope.’”

  The tumblers clinked and the bronze liquid swirled and danced soothingly. They both drained their glasses and sat, side by side, staring at the wall.

  John poured refills just as Willy and Helen came into the room.

  “You two want some?”

  Willy nodded. “Absolutely—for me anyway.”

  Helen let out a sigh. “Me, too. Make it a tall one.”

  Willy laughed and retrieved two glasses out of the bar cabinet. John poured again and they all toasted.

  “To miracles.”

  Willy picked up his sweater off the ottoman and pulled it over his head. “It’s comfy down here, but kind of chilly.”

  John pointed. “There’s a thermostat on that wall. We can crank it up if you want.”