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  This douchebag is a woman? KJ thought.

  The Huahuqui on the pillar darted down again, breaking the stalemate, and leapt to the floor. As they crashed into the grass, the long rifle slung across the rider’s shoulder slid off and clunked into the greenery. The pair sped off.

  KJ launched after them, K’awin in tow. “They’re heading for the river, if she makes it in we’ll lose them!” he yelled over his shoulder.

  K’awin acknowledged the danger, letting out a long trill battle cry.

  The mystery Huahuqui stumbled, nearly throwing its rider, but managed to keep its stride.

  “Good try, girl!” KJ yelled. If only he had a gun. Why would they never give him a gun?

  KJ grunted with determination and pushed harder. His muscles burned, and his brain felt alive, as if every neuron was firing at once. K’awin’s aura was within him, pushing him, powering him beyond human limits. Together they were stronger than alone, a unified being that was more than the sum of its parts. Yet, today the usual clarity brought by the bond was dulled. There was another consciousness mingling with his.

  Who are you?

  The shooter dashed across the Maine Highway, narrowly avoiding being mowed down by a Lexus, and sped toward the Floral Library. KJ and K’awin kept pace, ploughing through the traffic to the sound of angry horns and shouting, then tore through the tulip beds of the colorful garden. Petals and grass floated in the wake of the pursuit.

  “She’s headed for the basin!” KJ called to K’awin over the rush of air. “Go girl!”

  K’awin pushed harder, closing the gap—but not enough. The shooter and her Huahuqui dived into the water and made a bee-line for the Jefferson Memorial.

  “Fuck, we aren’t gonna catch her this way!” KJ yelled. He quickly surveyed the nearby road and found what he wanted. “K’awin, don’t let her out of your sight. You’ll be faster without me.”

  K’awin warbled in understanding.

  KJ sprinted toward his target: a motorcyclist dismounting his Italian sports bike.

  “Sorry buddy,” KJ said, flashing his empty wallet at the man. “Secret service.”

  The man stepped back, waving KJ to take his ride.

  KJ jumped on the bike and turned the key still in the ignition. The electric display came to life, with simply the word “go” flashing in the middle. KJ grinned. Let’s see her get away now, he thought, opening the throttle. The whine of the electric motor was piercing as the full 168 ft-lb of torque kicked in. In seconds he accelerated to 200 miles per hour along the small footpath, his chin-length wavy hair flapping in the wind.

  Civilians threw themselves to the ground in every direction as KJ rounded the bend and followed the footpath across the river and southwest along the basin shoreline headed straight for the Jefferson Memorial. A quick glance to his right showed K’awin, closing the gap with the shooter.

  The would-be assassin and her Huahuqui exploded from the water, followed by K’awin, landing at the base of the memorial steps. Unable to outrun their pursuers any longer, the woman turned her Huahuqui to face K’awin and dismounted.

  A moment that felt stretched over eternity passed as KJ watched from his stolen bike. He opened the throttle as wide as possible. As KJ screamed ahead, the engine whine nearly splitting his eardrums, he held out one arm like a hook, and before the enemy knew what had happened, he had slammed into her at full speed—taking her and the bike crashing straight into the Tidal Basin.

  KJ coughed and spluttered and swam for the surface; the electric bike plummeting to the basin floor below. He crawled out and onto the shore, t-shirt clinging to his skin, and shielded his eyes from the bright sun.

  A shadow passed over KJ’s face and he instinctively crossed his forearms, blocking the first strike. He rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, parrying and blocking a flurry of palm heel strikes, knees, and round house kicks.

  “Hey, I make it a policy not to hit a lady,” KJ said defending yet another knock-out blow to his jaw.

  The attacker didn’t understand or didn’t care and pulled a serrated blade from its sheath on her belt.

  “Hey, lookit, hot stuff. You can’t go around stabbing people. It ain’t polite,” KJ said.

  The woman stared at him from behind her snood, her cobalt-blue eyes like fire—full of anger and hatred.

  K’awin twitched, waiting to intervene, but KJ held out a palm to ward her off.

  The assassin seemed to gauge the situation, then gave her Huahuqui a nod. It launched itself at K’awin and the two creatures tumbled into the dirt.

  “You bitch,” KJ hissed through clenched teeth. “Now you’ve done it.”

  KJ came at the woman with his own combination of fist, knee, elbow strikes all the while avoiding being sliced open by the large blade in her hand. The two parried back and forth, neither one landing a clean hit. The woman threw a clumsy, long-arced slice which KJ ducked and used as an opportunity to spin to her back.

  As she turned to face him, KJ managed to grab the back of the snood and it slid from her head. Long black flowing hair spilled out from underneath, covering most of her face. She huffed it away and crouched lower into yet another attacking position.

  KJ stared at her, his mind awash with memories long buried. The woman was beautiful. So familiar. Her eyes, blue like the Stratum. The broad cheek bones and full lips. KJ wracked his brain. Could it be? Was it possible? He opened his mind further, reaching out to her.

  The young woman hesitated, but only momentarily.

  Lightning fast she pounced, knocked KJ to the ground, and pinned his arms with both her knees. Her blade rested on his throat. KJ glanced over to his companion who had also been defeated and forced down. The enemy Huahuqui pressed its large hand onto K’awin’s head, squashing her into the concrete.

  “Ribka ...” KJ managed. “Don’t.”

  The Huahuqui cocked its head and darted its gaze between the woman and KJ.

  The shooter drew close to KJ’s face, studying him with those blue eyes from behind a mass of thick dark hair.

  KJ stopped struggling. “Svetlana, I know it’s you. It’s me ... don’t you remember?”

  The assassin studied him, searching his eyes, her own squinted in concentration.

  “Siberia, Africa, Antarctica... you were with me. And my mom, Freya. And K’awin.” KJ flicked his glance in the direction of his symbiont, then back to his captor. “It’s us, your friends.”

  The young woman seemed to relax; the blade at his neck no longer shaking with adrenaline.

  The wail of police sirens screaming down Ohio Drive shattered the moment. The woman’s face tightened again. She raised the knife quickly up and then down, striking KJ in the temple with the handle. The last thing KJ saw, through blurred vision, was the assassin mount her Huahuqui and disappear into the Tidal Basin with a splash. Then, everything went black.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Location: Connecticut, USA

  A dozen unanswered calls to KJ. Seven to Lucy, five to her contact in the NSA and countless more to anyone she could think of in Washington. No one had picked up. Freya’s influence within both the government and the military had waned with her declining health. Though several breakthroughs had managed to slow her Huntington’s significantly, there had been no cure. And not even long-time friend Lucy Taylor could ignore Freya’s shaking hands, jerking limbs, and of course memory loss that would eventually lead to an Alzheimer’s-like state. It was a miracle Freya had made it this long. Long enough to possibly witness the death of her only son on national television.

  Jonathan stormed into the room.

  “Have you heard anything?” Freya asked.

  He shook his head. “I just spoke with Catherine. She said she saw KJ, but he went running after the attacker alone. No-one’s seen him since. He’s got too much of his father in him. Rash and hot headed.”

  “Please, Jonathan. Don’t start. Right now, I just need to know KJ is alright.”

  Jonathan sighed. “Sure babe,
I’ll make some more calls.” He left again, punching yet another number into his phone.

  Freya watched her husband leave. Jonathan Teller was a good man. For seventeen years he’d kept his promise. He married her and stuck by her side as the disease took hold. Even taken a sabbatical in the last year to care for her. And then, of course, there was KJ and Nikolaj. Jonathan had done his best to be a father to them both—especially as her condition meant he would never have any of his own. Nikolaj wasn’t even Freya’s, let alone Jonathan’s, son. She’d adopted him. Of course, she had, what else was there to do? Freya felt never-ending guilt for his mother’s death—Minya’s, death. That day, that storm, had played over and over in Freya’s mind for nearly two decades. How she held on to both Minya and KJ as they dangled over the side of a sinking boat in the freezing Southern Indian Ocean. How she only had the strength to save one. How she’d let go of Minya, to save KJ.

  Over the years, Nikolaj had worked hard to be part of her clan, overachieving and ever attentive. He never questioned his mother’s death, and rarely spoke of her. It was somewhat of a relief. Freya wasn’t sure if her heart could take any more guilt. Nikolaj seemed to understand that. Such a sensitive and understanding young man.

  KJ, on the other hand, was another story altogether. As he grew, the sweet little boy slipped away and a confident, even cocky, young man appeared. A carbon-copy of his father: Kelly Graham. Though incredibly intelligent, he did not apply himself. His wit and charm seemed to grease his way, letting him slip in and out of situations with annoying ease. When things didn’t go his way, the rashness came bubbling forth. Jonathan had little tolerance for KJ’s hot-headedness. In response, KJ had rejected Freya’s married name, Teller, and taken his father’s. The whole thing was exhausting. Luckily, K’awin kept Freya’s son somewhat grounded. Perhaps the Huahuqui would be able to help him to mature... if he hadn’t already gotten himself killed.

  Freya’s phone burst to life. She fumbled with it, hands shaking with adrenaline and her sickness.

  “Mom?”

  “KJ! Where the hell have you been?”

  “Relax, mom. I’m good. I had K’awin with me. She’s always got my back, you know that.”

  “Jonathan said you ran after the shooter?”

  There was a lasting silence on the end of the line. “If I didn’t do it, we would’ve lost them. I had to do something,” KJ said finally.

  “And did you catch them?” Freya asked, though knew the answer.

  More silence.

  “No, you didn’t. Because you’re not trained for it,” Freya snapped. “You’re not with the secret service, or the NSA or the FBI. You’re barely out of your teens, all balls and no brains.”

  “Thanks, mom. Good pep talk.”

  Freya sighed. “I’m sorry, honey, really I am. You’re an intelligent young man, more than intelligent, but you let your emotions get the better of you. The whole of the Stratum looks up to you. You’re important.”

  “To who? You or America?”

  “Me, America, the Stratum, our planet. KJ, I know it’s not fair, but these responsibilities are yours—and mine. You have to step up.”

  KJ groaned. “Oh, that ol’ chestnut. Can I get a round of you’re not your father, while we’re at it?”

  The problem was, no matter how much she tried to convince KJ, or herself, he was his father. Through and through. The way he walked, talked, smiled. It was as if Kelly Graham had risen from the dead. KJ approached life with the same reckless abandon. Freya had always put Kelly’s need to be in the line of fire down to the death of his first family. If KJ was anything to go by, it would seem being an adrenaline junkie was in the Graham blood.

  “Just come home, okay? It’s not safe there,” Freya pleaded, her tone softer now.

  “Yeah, no can do. I’m gonna stick around. There’s something bigger going on here. I think I saw—”

  “Found the rifle, KJ. Exactly where you said it would be,” a female voice in the background said.

  “Wait, saw what?” Freya practically yelled. “Who is that? Catherine? Catherine, are you there?”

  “I gotta go, mom. I’m okay, I’ll call in a while. Once I have this figured.”

  “Put Catherine on phone. KJ? I said, put—”

  Click.

  “Dammit!” Freya threw her cell phone at the leather couch.

  “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Jonathan said, re-entering the room, his brow furrowed in worry. By his side, a small pinkish Huahuqui waddled along. “Was that KJ?”

  Freya nodded. “You were right, he went after the shooter.”

  “Did he catch the guy?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” Freya asked the same of KJ to prove a point. She was sure Jonathan asked because he genuinely considered the notion KJ might succeed.

  “He’s pretty resourceful. And sometimes being bull-headed pays off.” Jonathan crouched down to Freya and rested one hand on an arm of her wheelchair, the other on the head of the Huahuqui. “That he didn’t get from his father.”

  Freya met her husband’s gaze and narrowed her eyes in disapproval. Though, she couldn’t disagree. “It’s Catherine. He looks up to her. Would follow her to the ends of the damn Earth,” she said, changing the subject.

  “You can’t blame Catherine. She’s just doing her job,” Jonathan said.

  “She’s an adventure junkie just like him.”

  “And just like you, and his father,” Jonathan replied, his tenor warm and wise. “Don’t let that wheelchair cloud your memory. Or do you forget how we met?”

  Freya’s gaze dropped to her engagement ring, given to her in Antarctica. The piece of meteorite, now set into a platinum ring, twiddled between Freya’s jittery fingers. “That was different,” she whispered.

  “Was it?” Jonathan said, raising Freya’s face with a finger under chin.

  What was he implying? Surely not? Freya thought. “You think he likes her, likes her? She’s got twenty odd years on him.”

  Jonathan grinned. “You’re talking to a guy who’s into green women, remember? What’s a few years?”

  A torrent of retorts caught in Freya’s throat, but none came forth. Instead, her limbs jerked several times. It was always worse when she was frustrated.

  “You haven’t spent time with Dacey today, have you?” Jonathan asked.

  Freya glanced at the Huahuqui. The creature stared back. As always it had a comically happy expression plastered all over its tiny face. KJ had brought Dacey into Freya’s home some five years ago. He insisted the Huahuqui had volunteered, though Freya had no way of discerning if that were true. She felt like a blind person with a seeing eye dog. And that didn’t sit well. The Huahuqui were equals, not nurse maids. Still, it was hard to ignore that proximity to Dacey tempered Freya’s symptoms. She rubbed Dacey’s head, then cursed herself for the demeaning gesture.

  “Babe, there’s something else,” Jonathan said, derailing Freya’s train of thought. “Head office just called. They’re pulling me back in. I don’t have to go—”

  “Yes, you do,” Freya interrupted, her eyes wide and glassy. “They’re back, Jonathan. I know they are. The Nine Veils. They’re coming for my son.”

  Location: Wilkes Land, Antarctica

  Koa Brown’s teeth chattered. Jesus H. Christ, it’s cold, he thought.

  His family had thought him crazy. Having grown up in the Northern territory of Australia as part of a proud Aboriginal family, his choice of career—polar archeologist—was about as foreign a concept as could be. Right about now Koa was willing to concede, call up his dad and tell him the whole bloody idea was insane. There were literally no words that could describe just how soul-destroying-ly cold it was. It didn’t help that the sun was almost permanently low in the sky at this time of year. Six months of darkness. He knew it was the middle of the night, but time had so little meaning that he worked when he felt like it. Of course, he also had to drag his colleague, Allison, along. She was less enthusiastic,
using melatonin and sunlamps to maintain a normal circadian rhythm.

  Can’t stop now, Koa thought. Too close. We’re too damn close.

  Koa’s PhD thesis had been on perfecting a type of ground-penetrating radar specifically for large ice masses. Just like the one on which he was standing. Of course, the arrival of the Stratum had scuppered his original application to explore Antarctica. The icy continent had been designated a no-go zone for anything other than research dedicated to understanding the Huahuqui.

  Until a year ago.

  After what felt like a lifetime of petitioning, groveling, throwing tantrums, and even shamelessly leveraging his minority status as a means to gain attention, he was finally granted access, though he would be working out of, and reporting to, Alpha Base. Still, for an archeologist of his ilk, it was like being given access to the Holy Grail. In 2006 a team of researchers had used NASA's GRACE satellites and gravity measurements to identify a 190-mile-wide mass concentration, centered within a larger ring-like structure in Wilkes Land, Antarctica. It was visible in radar images of the land surface beneath the ice cap. The scientists had suggested it may mark the site of a 300-mile-wide impact crater buried beneath the ice. If this were true, it would be more than two and a half times larger than the Chicxulub crater—believed to be the impact site for the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs.

  “We’re good to go, Koa. Dielectric is calibrated. You wanna do the honors?” Allison asked.

  Koa give one of his huge child-like grins. “I’m so excited I think I might piss me grundies.”

  “Charming. You going to push this button or not?” Allison said, a thick-gloved finger hovering over the execute key.

  “Don’t you bloody dare!” Koa laughed and trudged over to his expedition partner.

  The wind battered him and seemed to pierce any chink in his fur-lined armor. The small exposed spaces of skin on his face were burned and blistered. But it was worth it. It would all be worth it in the end. The Wilkes Land Crater would be renamed the Koa Brown Crater. Maybe, the Koab Crater. That had a nice ring to it.