Chapter 34 — Rook Takes Knight

"The decision makers are always a layer above. No matter how high you might climb in the ladder, there is always another level to reach. The world has been structured for a long time, and the rungs exist to keep us in our place. Any attempt at independence will inevitably be crushed—not by active effort, but by the simple truth that none can truly break a system when they've never known anything beyond it, when nature itself prods civilization toward certain outcomes.

The only way out is through total systemic change—the kind which republics and tyrants alike fear, that which shakes democracies and oligarchies to their core. Such change has never existed in history, for such change requires a fundamental shift in the laws of the universe, else the universe will perpetually drive society back to the same basic structures again and again, simply out of convenience.

That shift has come. We are the change."

~Cinza, the Rallsburg Diaries

The jeep burst out of the trees onto the open road, skidding across the pavement. Makoto scrambled on the wheel, trying to correct it—in the wrong direction. They slid even further, wheels skipping across the frosty asphalt.

Goddammit. "Turn into the skid!" Jeremy shouted, covering his phone speaker for a second. Makoto did so, and soon the jeep had steadied out. They shot down the road, travelling away from the chopper far to the north, quickly becoming a distant speck in the sky.

"Standby for connection, Agent Ashe."

"Hurry the fuck up," he growled. "And have that chopper ready to meet us!"

Jeremy glanced over his shoulder to the back seat. Kendra Laushire was taking deep breaths, her hand right on top of her lungs as if she were having difficulty breathing. Cinza leaned over her, making a gesture with her hands.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping oxygen move into her lungs," Cinza replied, her echoey voice audible even over the roaring engine and the chirps in Jeremy's ear.

"Ashe, you're live with tactical."

A radio click, and then Jeremy was suddenly hearing the traffic net for the Washington Air Traffic Control.

"Say again, unidentified helicopter. You are ordered to divert immediately to SeaTac and disembark all passengers. Please respond."

Kendra coughed behind him. "What's happening?" she asked, her voice ragged.

Jeremy muted the microphone on his end. "ATC's ordering the chopper to land at SeaTac." He glanced at Makoto. "Speed it up."

Makoto nodded, gunning the engine. Jeremy unmuted his phone. "This is Ashe. I'm in a black jeep heading south on Highway 101. Need immediate pickup and dust-off for four persons at…" He glanced at a passing road sign. "Brockdale. Right fuckin' now."

"Affirmative, Agent Ashe."

A different voice cut in, much deeper and with a much higher-quality sound—like a whole room instead of the traffic controller. "This is Washington. Please advise on current situation."

...Holy shit. This escalated fast. "...Say again, Washington? You know the fuckin' situation."

Another voice—one instantly familiar to Jeremy. "Ashe, this is President Stafford. I've heard a lot about you in the last couple months."

At the sound of the President's voice, Jeremy found his composure. As much as he hated his own department, he respected the man at the head of the show. "...Sir, with all due respect—"

"Why am I scrambling two F-16s out of JBLM right now?"

Jeremy took a breath and cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. He'd never spoken to anyone more than a single level above Aderholt before. This was way outside his pay-grade. "Mr. President, I have reason to believe that helicopter has a high value hostage on board and is attempting to flee the country."

"The president?" asked Cinza sharply, looking up. Jeremy nodded.

"Who's the hostage?"

Well… shit. "I'm not at liberty to say, sir."

A harsher feminine voice cut in—Jeremy wasn't quite sure, but he believed it to be the National Security Advisor. "Agent Ashe, you're in a region that's experienced multiple terrorist attacks in the last thirty days. Now you've got a high-profile abduction. Tell us what the hell is going on."

"...Standby, Washington." Jeremy muted the microphone, glancing back. They were still a few minutes out from Brockdale, and Jeremy could see a helicopter rushing to meet them in the distance, while their target got even further away. "Cinza."

"They want to know who's in the helicopter," she concluded. The jeep rumbled as she spoke, as if adding its own angry growl to her narrowed eyes. Kendra didn't respond, but her own expression was desperate, as she gazed out toward her departing sister—or clone, or whatever the hell she is.

"Pretty much." He frowned. "Look, you want to talk to them or me? Because I can try to shield you a bit longe—"

Cinza shook her head, cutting him off. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "...It's time."

Jeremy nodded. He grabbed the cord for the jeep stereo and plugged it into his phone, cranking the speakers up to hear them more clearly. "Mr. President."

"Still here, Ashe. The jets are in the air. Tell me what they're doing."

Cinza cut in before Jeremy could say another word. "This is Cinza. The helicopter has one of my people on board. I need them back."

The fuck is she doing? Why not just tell them it's Kendra? Everybody knows Kendra's alive, and government always leaps to protect the mega-rich… except it's Lily on board. So Cinza's protectin' her by stickin' out her own neck, even though they've only been there one day.

Damn. No wonder she's got a cult.

A pause. Brockdale was now in sight, and their helicopter had put down on the ground. They were coming up fast. "...Did you say Cinza?"

"In exchange for your assistance, I will meet with a representative of your choosing and open relations between myself and your government."

Jesus Christ, what the hell's she doing? "Sir—" Jeremy started, but the president cut him off.

"Done. How do I get in touch with you?"

"Mr. Ashe can act as liaison, if that's acceptable."

Oh, fuck me… I'm never gettin' back to a normal life...

"The F-16s are coming alongside the chopper now. We'll patch you in on the transmission. Phil?"

Another radio crackle. Jeremy winced as Cinza glanced over at him. He nodded, and she nodded in return. Kendra looked like she'd barely heard a word they'd said.

The low, bored voice of the fighter pilot drones out of the jeep's speakers. "Unidentified chopper, descend to one thousand feet and divert immediately to SeaTac. I have missile lock and am prepared to fire if you do not comply."

Cinza's eyes widened. She spoke up again, before Jeremy could stop her. "They must not shoot down that helicopter."

They aren't going to! Jeremy shook his head frantically, trying to stop her—but to his relief, the president spoke up again in a calming tone. "We're just trying to scare them. Nobody's getting shot down."

"These people are professional mercenaries in the employ of a multi-billionaire," said Cinza, disgust plain in her voice. "You won't scare them."

"Employees of who?" cut in the National Security Advisor. Kimberly Young, Jeremy finally remembered. That's her name. Gave us that whole boring-ass speech on readiness.

"Cornelius Malton," said Cinza. We don't have any proof of that…

"...The energy tycoon?"

The President cut back in again. "Status on the helicopter?"

"Heading zero degrees, elevation eight thousand feet. No response."

"Jack, talk to me. What do we have to bring them down safely?"

Fuck-all… You can't force down a chopper with a goddamn fighter jet. The jeep skidded to a halt on the pavement as they finally reached the waiting helicopter. The rotors were still spinning as they leapt out. Jeremy held the phone to his ear as they boarded, Makoto helping Kendra on board. Cinza, to Jeremy's surprise, clambered up without any help at all—despite her short stature, Jeremy felt like he had more trouble getting onto the deck than she did.

As soon as they were on, the helicopter took off, jerking them up into the sky. Kendra clutched at her seat, still breathing heavily. Cinza looked distinctly uncomfortable off the ground as well, while Makoto was an unreadable mask as usual. Jeremy gestured at the headsets hanging off racks near their seats, and the trio hurriedly put them on. The headsets were already patched into the same channel he'd just been speaking on.

"...Sidewinder air-to-air missiles with heat seeking capability. There's no armament on the F-16 or any other platform that can force a helicopter to land without risking the health of the passengers, sir."

"So what can we do?"

"Wait for them to run out of fuel."

"Get me close to it," said Cinza. Her hair whipped around from the open helicopter door, bright silver and glowing in the morning sunlight. She took Makoto's hand, and met his eyes for a moment. They nodded in unison. "We can force it down."

Young cut in, her voice skeptical—if not downright annoyed. "I appreciate the offer, Miss…"

"Cinza."

"...Cinza, but what the hell are you going to do that the Washington Air National Guard can't do?"

"Magic," she replied simply, as if that could explain everything.

Jeremy slapped a hand to his forehead. Jesus fuckin' Christ…

"Are you kidding m—"

President Stafford cut her off again. "Do it. Ashe, you're cleared to approach. We'll wave off the F-16s to clear your space."

"Yes, sir," said Jeremy. He leaned forward to the chopper pilot and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Can you outrun that bird?"

"We're about to find out," replied the pilot, as cool as any Air Force man under pressure. He leaned into his controls.

The helicopter pitched forward. Jeremy's stomach sucked up into his chest as they accelerated. He fell back into his seat, double-checking his seatbelt. The forest whipped by below them, interspersed with streets and houses every so often, until they suddenly shot out over the water. The rapid change in scenery made him even more nauseous. I fuckin' hate flying…

Cinza didn't look much better off. Kendra was practically heaving, her mouth covered by a handkerchief she'd somehow produced from the dressing gown she still wore. Only Makoto looked well-adjusted to the bumpy ride—in fact, he was leaning out of the open side door, completely unbuckled, his robe whipping around in the wind.

"Coming up fast!" he shouted. Everyone in the helicopter winced in unison, as his shouts echoed through their headsets. To Jeremy's relief, nobody in D.C. reacted—Makoto had clicked off the transmission on his helmet.

As Jeremy twisted around to look forward, the target was, in fact, getting larger by the second. The two F-16s blew past the black military chopper, peeling off in either direction in another show of force. They'd circle back around and be ready for another pass if they were needed—for all the good that'll fuckin' do…

"What are you gonna do?" Jeremy asked, glancing back to Cinza.

Cinza leaned over in her seat, straining to look out while still strapped in. Unlike her lieutenant, she apparently didn't feel quite so secure riding around in an open helicopter without a seatbelt. She frowned. "We need to get closer."

"And then what?"

"Helicopters need an engine to power the rotation, right?"

"...Yeah."

Cinza nodded. "So I disable the engine. They'll lose power."

Jeremy gaped at her. "And fall out of the fuckin' sky!"

"Not likely, sir," their pilot chimed in, even as he pressed them into a steeper angle of attack. "That bird can autorotate just fine. It'll lose altitude fast, though. They'll be forced to put down around here." They were catching up, though they were losing some altitude on their target. "How close do you need?"

"As close as you can get." Cinza unstrapped herself and clambered down to the opposite side of the helicopter. Makoto grabbed her around the waist and swung her around, holding her just outside of the helicopter. Her silver hair and robes fluttered wildly in the open wind that blasted her whole body. "Don't let go."

Is she making a fuckin' joke? Right now?

"Ruby would kill me," said Makoto.

"She still might," said Cinza—and suddenly, Jeremy could hear the quiver in her voice. Goddamn, she's actually scared—and she's still out there. "Just tell her already."

"I…"

"Makoto, we're on the phone with the President of the United States, in the middle of a helicopter chase a mile up in the air, flying to rescue the kidnapped daughter of a billionaire," Cinza deadpanned. "And you're not wearing a seatbelt. How are you still afraid to tell her?"

"This isn't the time," said Makoto, squeezing his arms tighter around her as she tried to lean out into the open a bit further.

Cinza shook her head, nearly tangling the headset cord that trailed back into the helicopter. "If I die doing this, I want to know Ruby has someone." Another set of helicopter blades chopped the air nearby. They'd come up on the target, an ugly dark blot on the pale blue sky.

"You're not going to die," he said, and Jeremy heard real emotion in his voice—Makoto was afraid, too. "I won't let you."

"You might not have a… choice!" Cinza blurted the last word as she thrust a hand forward, then slammed it down. Nothing seemed to happen. "Missed!"

"Do you need more?" asked Makoto.

"As much as you can give me," Cinza replied. "I'm using too much just on distance. Pilot! Get us closer!"

"You got it— what the hell?"

Jeremy whipped around, suddenly grateful for the seatbelts as the chopper tilted sideways. Cinza fell in, Makoto hooking an arm around the metal bar to keep them both inside. Jeremy strained his eyes through the cockpit canopy, only to see… nothing.

"Where'd they go?"

A new voice crackled onto the headset—if Jeremy had to guess, he assumed it was the other F-16 pilot, based on the callsign and the tone. "Oracle, Wolf-1 has lost the target. Please advise."

"Wolf-1, repeat last. Tango is still on our scope."

"Negative, Oracle. Target is missing."

"Where the fuck did they go?" Jeremy asked, looking around. The sky was totally empty in every direction. "They didn't go down, did they?"

"Negative," reported the pilot. "They were there… and then they weren't."

"Ill...illusion," Cinza coughed, getting back upright again. She strapped herself back in, hand clutching her stomach. "It's a trick of photons. Use radar and get us closer. I can break it if we can find them."

"This bird doesn't have local radar." The pilot flipped a couple switches, then turned on his radio. "Oracle, this is Whiskey-delta-four-zero."

"Oracle reads, Whiskey-delta. Send traffic."

"Oracle, I can confirm Tango has engaged active visual camouflage, break." He paused while he wrestled control back from a particularly choppy patch of air. The helicopter bucked and groaned as it righted itself. "Need coordinates via infrared or radar, over."

"Oracle copies all, standby."

Jeremy twisted back to face Cinza. "We're lookin'. Hang in there."

She nodded, closing her eyes again. "Makoto, give me more. I'll find it if they can't."

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"They're using my spell," Cinza snapped, rage seeping into her echoing voice. "A spell she stole and gave away like it was nothing. I will break them."

"Ashe," said President Stafford, startling Jeremy. He'd totally forgotten D.C. was still listening in. "What's going on?"

"The target used magic to turn their helicopter invisible, sir," Jeremy reported. "We're trying a countermeasure."

"Jesus Christ," murmured someone else whom Jeremy couldn't identify. Jesus Christ yourself, asshole. This is hard enough to coordinate already. Get off the damn line.

"Whiskey-delta, Oracle has Tango locked. Adjust to zero-two-zero degrees, two-six minutes, and raise altitude by eight hundred feet, over."

"Roger, Oracle," said their pilot. Their helicopter immediately started to lift up and turn to the right, chasing their invisible prey.

"Whiskey-delta, increase speed by four-zero, over."

"Roger."

Cinza coughed again. Her eyes squeezed together tight, and her bare knuckles whitened. A gemstone attached to a bracelet on her wrist evaporated into nothing. "I… can't reach," she coughed. "Pilot, get me closer!"

"I'm trying!" he shot back, professionalism waning in the face of such a bizarre chase. "I can't follow what I can't damn well see!"

"Whiskey-delta, Oracle. New heading. Adjust zero-three-zero, oh-nine minutes, over."

"Roger, Oracle." The helicopter swung to the right yet again.

"No!" Cinza cried, her dark eyes flying open. "That's the wrong way!"

The pilot shook his head, but keyed his radio up again. "Oracle, check heading again, please." Jeremy craned his neck in every direction, trying to see any hint of the helicopter—strange winds, trees bending from the downdraft, birds flying out of the way. If he could just spot it…

"...Whiskey-delta, Oracle has lost Tango."

Kendra coughed hard, gasping for air. She looked like she was going to vomit—and Jeremy's prediction proved true a moment later, as she doubled over.

"Oracle, repeat last," said the pilot.

"Oracle has lost the target. Negative signature reading."

"Look again!" Cinza shouted, twisting around in her seat. The loose belts barely held her small frame in place, even while Jeremy's felt like it was cutting into his shoulders. "They have to be here!"

"Girl, if there's no signature, we're blind," the pilot shot back. "The thing's gone."

"Magnetics! EM! Anything!"

He shook his head. "We know what we're doing. There's nothing on God's green earth that can detect them if Oracle can't."

"We've fought a god," Cinza snapped. "We won." She dug into the folds of her robe and withdrew a phone, dialing fast. "...Nikki."

...The Rallsburg girl from Cinza's cult? The fuck's she gonna do? Jeremy glanced at Makoto, hoping for an answer, but the quiet young man simply leaned back out of his door again, still hoping desperately to spot the helicopter in the sky.

"Nikki," said Cinza again, surprisingly calm after the outbursts to the pilot. The phone was tucked into the ear of her headset, so she could still hear Jeremy over the chopper noise. "I need that location, as precise as you can manage."

"They've gotta be nearby, right?" asked Jeremy, glancing up to the pilot. "What was the range on that model?"

"Depends," said the pilot.

"Can they get to London?"

"Hell no."

"What's in London?" asked President Stafford.

"Hailey Winscombe," said Kimberly.

"Cornelius Malton," Cinza corrected, moving her phone away from her mouth for a moment. "The man responsible for Lakewood, for the murder of Jessica Silverdale, and now for an abduction."

"Can you prove any of that?"

"I will." Cinza paused, listening to her phone. She muttered something under her breath, then hung up and pocketed the phone before speaking again. "They're going to London in a private jet. We won't catch them in this."

"How can you be sure?" asked the President.

"Magic."

"Oh, for fu—"

Jeremy spoke up, cutting Kimberly off. "She's not lying, sir. This is a sensitive abduction and we need to beat the target there, if possible."

"Kimberly, what sort of transport do we have available for our friend Cinza? Any jets on standby?"

Oh, she's a friend now? Huh. A different, male voice replied, "Nothing that can seat four plus a pilot, sir."

"I have… a plane," Kendra interjected—the first words she'd spoken since leaving the Greywood.

"Who was that?"

Jeremy clicked a button on his headset to cut off their transmission, and gestured at Kendra to do the same. The chopper continued to circle the area, and Makoto was still looking left and right, but they'd obviously stopped expecting to find anything. "Kendra, they can't hear us anymore. What d'you mean you've got a plane?"

She tapped at her chest, taking a few more shallow breaths before speaking again. "Waiting… in Tacoma. A Gulfstream sent by my father for… Mr. Wilmore." The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a weak smile. "It would be rude… to keep him waiting… any longer."

Jeremy clicked his radio back on. "I need ATC clearance for a Gulfstream registered to Laushire Enterprises at SeaTac. Emergency takeoff. Clear the runway." He glanced back at Kendra, who was once again heaving, her eyes downcast and her hand trembling. "Get me an EMT team too. One that doesn't mind takin' a day trip."

"Destination?"

"London."