Merkley’s eyebrows dipped. “Oh, we needed to be rescued even before we got incompetent. The scrapper wouldn’t put the car down. He was going to kill us all.”
Enzo cleared his throat to bring Johansen’s attention back to him. “The telekinetic was stronger and more resistant than any I’ve heard of. Either he was a forte as well as a telekinetic, or… is it possible the mutants are growing more powerful?”
So little was known about Empowereds. Anything might be possible.
Most people blamed genetic tinkering for causing the initial mutations to crop up thirty-three years ago. During the two decades preceding their arrival, scientists had worked on ways to increase intelligence in the general population. They created an injection to increase a baby’s IQ by ten points in hopes that a smarter population would come up with more inventions and better innovations.
The plan seemed to work at first. The next generation cured a host of illnesses. Industry saw its share of improvements, including more fuel-efficient cars and better solar chargers.
Then random people began to have empowered abilities. They weren’t more intelligent; they were more powerful, and they trailed crime and destruction like the wake of a boat.
Only four years passed from the time Empowereds showed up until the psychics sold out their countries. They auctioned off information to the highest bidders, including missile codes, thus starting the Third World War. Over the span of two years, billions of people died. Satellites were shot from the sky like fireworks. Cities went up in flames.
Terrorists killed so many of the United States’ leaders that the national government all but ceased to exist for a while. The Western states brokered individual peace deals with warring countries, leaving the rest of the country to take the brunt of the fighting. And even now that the war had been over for twenty-six years, the breakaway states still claimed illegal sovereignty.
Any sort of genetic manipulation had been outlawed long ago, but the remaining Empowereds still caused trouble.
“I doubt the mutants are getting more powerful,” Johansen said. “It’s more likely our policemen are making stupid mistakes.”
It was one criticism too much. “What should we have done, sir? What was the correct course of action after the injection and the shock collar didn’t work? Stay buckled in our seats and wait for the tank to blow us out of the sky?”
Johansen stopped pacing and glared at Enzo. The man obviously hadn’t expected to be called out and didn’t have an answer. Which told Enzo his assessment of the situation was correct—the tank would’ve shot down the car, regardless of who was in it. And Lt. Johansen had the nerve to criticize them about taking off a seatbelt.
Johansen lifted his chin, glare still going full blast. “You’re out of place, Vasquez. Your conduct is under investigation, not mine.”
Merkley shut his eyes. “I wish I’d stayed put. My head feels funny now.”
Johansen only cast him a glance before returning his attention to Enzo. “Fortunately, you were too far away from the spectators for their cameras to clearly record your features. The public still doesn’t know who you are, and it’s going to stay that way.
“Two fictional officers were involved in the event, and unfortunately, both died from injuries sustained during the hijacking. More tragic victims of the Empowered.” Johansen turned to Merkley. “When you return to the force, you’ll be demoted. Get used to being a junior partner again.”
“Demoted?” Merkley moaned. “A pay cut just for taking off my seatbelt?”
“Keep complaining,” Johansen snapped, “and you’ll find yourself pulling a stint at the breakaway border.”
Border work generally consisted of a lot of patrols. Sometimes a skirmish would escalate to the point that cities had to be evacuated. Treaties prevented large armies and the use of any weapons more deadly than tanks. But no one wanted to be sent out to a tent somewhere to fight over a patch of wilderness in Oklahoma.
Merkley went silent.
Johansen turned to Enzo. “And you… Don’t think that rescuing your partner absolves you of your earlier idiocy. You’re on probation. Don’t mess up again.”
Enzo was about two breaths away from resigning and telling Johansen where he could shove his probation. He managed to clamp his lips shut instead. He hadn’t taken this job for the pay, which never offset the danger. He’d abandoned his freshman year of college and enrolled in the police academy for one reason: to get rid of Empowereds.
And so here he was at the Center for Defense, resentfully reporting to the director of special ops.
The first time Enzo had seen Philip Schmitt was five years ago at his father’s funeral. Schmitt had been the deputy police chief back then, there as the department’s face to assure his mother that the authorities would do all they could to bring his father’s killers to justice. Enzo had believed it, not because his father was important, but because his father’s boss was. Two senators and the governor were also killed in the blast. The newscasts covered the story for months.
Enzo’s mother still kept in contact with Director Schmitt, considered him a friend, even. About once a year, she invited him to dinner and had Enzo over as well.
Enzo had never let the other officers at work know that he personally knew Schmitt. He didn’t want them to think he had an in with the director’s office. He didn’t. Although, Enzo had never been sure whether he’d been granted special ops status based on his own merits or whether his mother had persuaded Schmitt to pull some strings for him. The force only trained a select group of police officers to bring in Empowereds.
An assistant showed Enzo into the director’s office, a spacious, well-lit room with a view of the city spreading out below. From this high up, the city looked orderly, clean almost.
Enzo made his way to a chair in front of a desk so large it could’ve passed for a table. Schmitt was middle-aged, with receding brown hair and a bulbous nose. He carried more than a little extra weight around his middle. If that didn’t prove he had money to blow on food, the bowl of chocolate candy sitting on his desk hit the point home.
Schmitt saw Enzo glancing at the bowl and gestured to it. “Care for some?”
Chocolate cost a lot, and the fact that Schmitt offered his private stash meant he wasn’t about to yell at him for the way the mission had turned out. Enzo felt his shoulders relaxing.