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hour to finish her mission. Once these machines got between the Jewel and all enemies, Jamie Sheridan could not be touched.

She did not tell Christian and Arthur of the machines’ impending arrival. Rather, she cursed Walter, who betrayed all the observers and must have arranged for Shock Units before he left the Collectorate behind.

They arrived in Austin Springs precisely at 9 a.m., rendezvousing at the entrance to a town park only a hundred yards from the rear of the police station. Agatha needed one look at the small, white structure to know their final assault would be a striking success.

Jennifer scouted the station front and back, making note of three entrances – one front, two rear, one side. The lack of law enforcement vehicles suggested they would not face heavy resistance. They clustered about the Camaro hiding their weapons. A few locals walking their dogs paid them scant notice.

“The Jewel is nearing the end of its re-sequencing,” Agatha said. “Once we secure the building, we should split into teams and acquire incendiary devices.”

Both legs ached. She knew every step from now to her death would be agony, but Agatha steeled her eyes, refusing to show weakness. She pushed the Shock Units out of her mind.

“You sacrificed your lives and your homes for fifteen years,” she said. “Now we must be honest. Whether or not we succeed, our last realistic chance of going home may have passed. However, millions will herald us as heroes, even though they may not know our names. I will ponder that concept with my final breath.”

Their shoulders stiffened, their eyes brightened, and they nodded with determination. A black SUV pulled into the park and stopped in the lot several slips away.

“Let’s finish this,” Christian said, his eyes drifting to the SUV.

As they gathered their weapons and Arthur went over the assignments once more, Christian turned away from the group, his pistol with suppressor behind his back. He moved toward the SUV with the swagger of the most popular stud in school. A man in his early twenties, sporting a t-shirt, shorts and red headband, hopped out of the vehicle, a basketball in one hand and keys in the other.

Christian smiled. “Sweet ride. How much this set you back?”

The man with the basketball retreated a step, stumbling over his words. With a half-smile, he said, “Enough. Why?”

“No reason, man.”

Christian glanced over his shoulder to his mother and winked. Then he revealed his weapon and said, “Let’s finish this.”

51

8:47 a.m.

Austin Springs Police Department

J AMIE WATCHED WITH disinterest as a deputy closed the tiny conference room’s one door. Two seconds later, he heard jangling keys and a turning lock. He was alone, kept company by a bottle of water and a painting of a mallard – the room’s only decoration. He sat in a wooden chair at the head of a nondescript oak table for six. He wore a white t-shirt with the letters ASPD emblazoned across the chest.

As he waited in silence for the next shoe to drop, Jamie turned toward the generic portrait of a mallard. He latched onto the bird’s unblinking, searching eye surrounded by a field of green, and Jamie felt a trickle of nostalgia.

The memory of Ben emerged from a sea muddied by the Jewel, which was reshaping his brain, synapse by synapse. He remembered Ben at 17, his brother’s eyes wide and alert without the drowning influence of alcohol. He saw a boy no older than himself, likewise trapped between the innocence of youth and the overwhelming fear of what burdens life had in store. He felt Ben’s arm wrapped around his 11-year-old shoulder as they sat on the shore at Alamander River. He remembered gentle, teaching words.

“Some people will tell you what you can’t be,” Ben said. “It’s their job to try to keep you from your dreams. Sometimes, Jamie, they might be the people you trust. They’re the worst. They’ll say they’re protecting you, but that’s not close to the truth. You listen now, Jamie: Every road you take is your own. It doesn’t matter where you came from or whoever says you owe them something. You take that road, and you own it. Hear me?”

Jamie wiped away a tear as he turned from the portrait.

“He was trying to warn me, even back then.”

“Possibly,” Lydia said from the opposite end of the table, her fingers knocking wood.

He glared. “I want the truth. Was Ben right? Is the human soul made of the same energy as the Jewel?”

Lydia smirked. “I must confess his theories did intrigue me. I cannot rule out the possibility of a connection, however remote. But you must understand, my dearest boy: Even if the Jewel were nothing more than a weaponized version of the same raw energy that comprises the human soul, you cannot stop the re-sequencing. It is, as they say, a moot point.”

“Why?” He asked Lydia. “I’ve already done the impossible once today. How do you know it can’t happen again?”

“Because the Jewel will never allow an intrusion into its matrix. It was designed with a fully impregnable – and, I must add, aggressive – self-preservation program. Do you believe you alone killed Walter Huggins and Reginald Fortis? Or did you receive help?”

“I’m in charge,” he whispered. “I’m in charge. You hear me, Lydia? I’m still a human being, and I can make my own decisions.”

She vanished without replying.

Jamie heard dangling keys. Seconds later, FBI Agent Hedgecock entered, telling a young deputy to wait outside. “Give me five.” The agent nodded to Jamie and placed a laptop on the table. He swiveled it about until Jamie could see the screen.

“First, John, I want to tell you we’re sorry for everything,” Hedgecock said. “We treated you unfairly after your arrest. You must understand we were in the middle of a difficult and

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