THE 4400® WELCOME TO PROMISE CITY (3 page)

“You think I’m Marked?” Ryland snorted at the idea. “You’re getting paranoid, Tom.”

“I have reason to be.” Tom wasn’t surprised that Ryland knew about the Marked; no doubt his contacts in the intelligence community had briefed him on the bodysnatching conspirators. He circled behind Ryland and Tanaka. “If you don’t mind.”

Ryland sighed wearily. “If it will put your mind at rest.” He let Tom peek behind the ear. To the agent’s relief, the skin under the lobe did not bear an X-shaped mole. “You do realize that this is a waste of time, don’t you?” Ryland objected. “I hardly need to be possessed by a sinister entity from the future to want to save this country from the 4400 and Collier’s seditious Movement.”

He’s got a point there,
Tom conceded. Marking Ryland would be redundant; the man was already obsessed with destroying the 4400. “I guess you and the Marked are on the same page.”

“You know what they say,” Ryland answered. “The enemy of my enemy, et cetera.”

Tom didn’t like the sound of that. Was Ryland just pulling his chain, or was he actually in cahoots with the Marked? Lord knows they had similar agendas, and swam in the same lofty military-industrial circles.
That could be serious trouble.

Convinced that Ryland’s prejudices were his own, and not something imposed on him by the Marked, Tom moved on to Tanaka. Was there more to her defection to Ryland’s camp than simple expedience? “Excuse me,” he said as he came up behind her. “Your glasses.”

“Go ahead,” Ryland instructed her.

Her back to Tom, she removed her glasses. Slender fingers brushed her hair away from her ear. A whiff of perfume tickled Tom’s nostrils. “You do this with every girl you meet?”

I would if I was single,
Tom thought. He had been involved with his boss, Meghan Doyle, for months now. And, truth be told, he sometimes checked behind her ear when they were making love or in the shower. He tried to be subtle about it, but he suspected that Meghan knew what he was up to, even if she never said anything. Meghan understood what the Marked had done to him. She had been one of the first people to see through the false Tom’s deceptions.

“That’s none of your business,” he replied. The woman’s skin proved equally unblemished and he stepped away from her. She replaced her glasses.

“Satisfied?” Ryland asked him.

“On that score.” Tom circled back to face the pair. “Although part of me kind of wishes I had found a Mark on you. It would have explained what happened to the man I used to know.”

“I never changed,” Ryland insisted. “You’re the one who let your sentimental attachment to these menaces blind you to what needs to be done. Speaking of which, I hear that you and Regional Director Doyle are enjoying an unusually close working relationship.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “First the Mareva woman, now another p-positive freak?”

Along with several other NTAC staffers, Meghan had been involuntarily infected with promicin during fifty/fifty. And like the other survivors, she had developed a 4400 ability. This had posed a dilemma for NTAC, which was still tasked with carrying out the war on promicin. As a result, the agency had adopted
a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy regarding all the NTAC employees who had gained abilities against their will. Everyone knew what had happened to them, but they were expected to be discreet about it … or face immediate termination.

“Watch it,” Tom warned him. He was tempted to pop Ryland in the nose, but chose not to take the bait. After all, he still didn’t know why the other man had requested this meeting. “What do you want, Dennis?”

“The same thing as always,” Ryland declared, getting down to business. “To stop the 4400 and the other positives from wrecking our way of life and endangering our national security. Today, that means bringing down Collier and his Movement.”

He extracted a plastic vial and shook a couple of circular brown tablets into his palm before popping the pills into his mouth. Tom recognized the tablets as ubiquinone, a common nutritional supplement that, in sufficient doses, could provide temporary immunity to promicin. The Feds had been madly stockpiling “U-Pills” for months now, despite Collier’s frequent efforts to sabotage the initiative via suspiciously surgical earthquakes and tornadoes. All p-negative NTAC agents now routinely carried emergency doses when in the field. Tom’s own supply was tucked in his back pocket.

“Unfortunately,” Ryland continued, “as I mentioned before, my people are persona non grata in Seattle, which means it’s up to you and your colleagues to dethrone Collier, even if it means taking advantage of your son’s connection to Collier.”

“Kyle?” Tom bristled at the suggestion. “You want me to exploit my own son?”

Ryland didn’t deny it. “As Collier’s confidant and righthand man, he’s a unique asset which we’d be fools not to utilize. I realize this puts you in an awkward position, but your duty to this country trumps your familial obligations.” His stern tone reminded Tom of how Ryland had once run NTAC’s northwest office. “You’re still a federal agent, Tom. Don’t tell me you approve of Collier turning Seattle into his own private fiefdom?”

“Of course not.” Tom didn’t trust Collier one bit, even though they had been forced to work together on occasion. In fact, NTAC was already doing its best to keep a close eye on Collier and his organization, given the constraints of the current situation. But he didn’t like getting bossed around by the likes of Ryland. “Leave Kyle out of this.”

“I wish I could,” Ryland said. “I used to attend his birthday parties, remember? As I recall, he really liked that chemistry set I got him when he was eleven.” His voice took on a rueful tone. “But Kyle made himself fair game when he hitched his star to Jordan Collier’s wagon.” He couldn’t resist twisting the knife a bit. “You ever think you set a bad example by literally sleeping with the enemy?”

Tom’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re not exactly winning me over here, Dennis. Why should I help you?”

“The names Curtis Peck and Warren Trask ring a bell?” Ryland’s lean face hardened. Tom flinched at the
mention of the men he had murdered while Marked. “I’d hate to see you charged with crimes you committed while not in your right mind, but I can’t help thinking that your recent extracurricular activities give me a degree of leverage.”

Simone Tanaka cracked a bitter smile. “Gee, this sounds familiar.”

“Don’t try playing hardball with me.” Tom wasn’t sure if the other man was bluffing or not, but, once he got over the initial jolt, he gave as good as he got. “I’m not the only one with dirty laundry. You want the world to know that the promicin Collier used to launch his Movement was created by Haspelcorp at your direction? The way I see it, that makes you indirectly responsible for everything that’s happened since. Including fifty/fifty.”

Ryland scowled, unable to refute Tom’s charges. Collier had hijacked Haspelcorp’s homemade promicin right under Ryland’s nose two years ago. The drug had been intended to create an army of enhanced soldiers to combat the 4400, but Collier had found another use for it, namely offering the drug to the entire world.

“Touché,” Ryland said, backing off. He tried another tack. “Suppose I told you that Collier is trying to weaponize promicin? To re-create the airborne version Danny Farrell unleashed on Seattle a few months ago?”

Tom winced at the mention of his nephew’s name. Danny hadn’t meant to hurt anyone when he’d injected himself with promicin. He had only wanted to gain an ability like his older brother, Shawn, one of the original 4400. But, to his infinite horror, and the world’s lasting
regret, he’d acquired the ghastly ability to infect everyone around him with a highly contagious form of promicin. Like a modern-day Typhoid Mary, he had spread the plague throughout Seattle before he even realized what was happening. Danny’s own mother—Tom’s sister—had been the first to die …

“I’ve seen those reports,” Tom said skeptically. “Lots of doctored evidence cooked up by the Marked and their friends in high places. They’re just trying to provoke the Feds into launching a preemptive strike against Collier.”

“Are you willing to take that chance?” Ryland challenged him. “Besides, I have my own sources of information.”

“Such as?”

Ryland glanced at Tanaka. The woman removed her glasses to reveal a pair of striking brown eyes. Her dark bronze irises had a thin golden halo around them, giving the eyes an eerie preternatural quality. Tom recalled that Tanaka was capable of seeing vast distances, and through solid objects, with her so-called “spy-eyes.” The Nova Group had used her to spy on NTAC during the “Vesuvius Affair.” Ryland and his buddies had surely put her ocular gifts to use as well.

“I can also read lips,” she reminded him.

Am I buying this?
Tom thought. Tanaka’s ability was a matter of record, but he wasn’t about to take her or Ryland at their word. She had a vested interest in telling Tom whatever her new bosses wanted her to, and Ryland had lied to Tom before.

“If you don’t believe me,” Ryland said, “check it out for yourself.”

Tom broke down and extracted a notepad from his pocket. “How?”

Ryland smiled slyly. “Here’s a question for you. Whatever happened to Danny Farrell’s remains?”

T
HE PRISONER GROANS
upon the floor of the cell. Blood drips from a swollen lip. He clutches the side of his head. A hefty guard stands over the prisoner. He sneers at the man on the floor, then kicks him savagely in the ribs. “You like that, you stupid freak?” he roars. Another guard cackles from outside the cell. No one notices the pale-faced young girl watching from the corner. Her eyes widen in horror.

The prisoner, a tall black man in an orange jumpsuit, tries to climb to his feet, but the beefy guard punches him in the face. He clubs him in the back with a metal truncheon, knocking him facedown onto the rough concrete floor.

“Wait!” the girl screams, but no one hears her. She’s only an observer here. Like a ghost.

The guard draws a gun from a holster. He aims it at the helpless prisoner.

“Time to say good-bye, Tyler.”

“Stop it!” the girl screams. “You’re going to kill him!”

Maia Skouris awoke with a start. Disoriented by the nightmare, it took the teenager a moment to realize
that she was safe in her own bed. Her wide brown eyes absorbed the familiar setting. Her straight blond hair was parted down the middle. A poster of Frank Sinatra was pinned to one wall. Dirty laundry littered the floor. Textbooks and homework were piled atop a desk, beside a globe of the world. Her journal rested on an end table next to her bed. Moonlight filtered through the window curtains. A digital alarm clock informed her that it was 3:20 in the morning.

Oh my God,
she thought.
That felt so real.

“Maia? Are you all right?” The bedroom door swung open and her mother rushed into the room. Diana Skouris flicked on the lights as she entered. Her auburn hair was mussed from the bed. A blue cotton nightgown clung to her trim, athletic figure. “I heard you cry out.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Maia replied, embarrassed by the fuss. “Just a bad dream.”

Diana sat down at the edge of the bed. Concerned brown eyes examined her daughter’s face. “Just an ordinary dream—or a vision?”

Maia knew what her mother meant. Ever since Maia had returned with the rest of the 4400 five years ago, she had been blessed—or cursed—with occasional glimpses of the future. Sometimes these visions struck her when she was wide awake; other times they came to her in the form of astonishingly vivid dreams. But they
always
came true.

“It’s Richard,” she blurted. “Richard Tyler.” Like her, Tyler was one of the original 4400. Last she’d heard, he had been arrested by the government. “I saw him in prison. One of the guards was trying to kill him!”

“Oh no,” Diana murmured. She didn’t question Maia’s vision. Past experience had taught them both to take the girl’s predictions very seriously. “Could you tell when this was happening?”

“I’m not sure,” Maia admitted. “Sometime soon, maybe.” She hoped they weren’t already too late. “We have to save him!”

Her mother frowned. “That could be harder than it sounds. I’ll notify NTAC right away, but Homeland Security has him locked up tight in a high-security prison in Virginia. That’s way out of my jurisdiction. To be honest, we haven’t been allowed access to Richard for months.”

Maia was frustrated by her mother’s response. What was the good of having an NTAC agent for a mother if she couldn’t use her badge to save a man’s life? Maia didn’t know Richard well, despite the fact that his psycho daughter had once tried to kill her, but the 4400 had to look out for each other. That’s what Jordan always said, and Maia found she agreed with him more and more as she got older. Even if her mother still had her doubts about Jordan.

“But, Mom, you
have
to get him out of that jail. He’s not safe there!”

“I wish it was that easy, honey.” She tugged her robe shut. “But, like it or not, Richard has attacked U.S. soldiers and NTAC agents in the past, so the government regards him as a dangerous terrorist. I’ll pass along your warning to the relevant agencies, but otherwise I’m afraid it’s out of my hands.”

Diana tried to give her daughter a comforting hug, but
Maia pulled away from her. “Jordan wouldn’t write Richard off like this,” she said sullenly.

“I’m
not
writing him off,” her mother protested. A note of exasperation crept into her voice. “And don’t you even think of telling Jordan Collier about your vision. We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want you having anything to do with Collier and his cult. It’s too dangerous.”

Maia pouted and crossed her arms atop her chest. Why didn’t her mother understand that Jordan Collier was right about the 4400 and the other positives?
We’re
supposed
to change the world for the better. That’s why we’re here.

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she said defiantly. “I can make my own decisions.”

Diana shook her head. “Not about this. This is serious grown-up business.”