Genesis the evolutioneer.., p.2
Genesis (The Evolutioneers Book 1), page 2
“Why would Madden—hell, anyone—need that much money? You couldn’t spend that in several lifetimes. And he sure as hell wouldn’t leave it to me if he died.”
Anthony didn’t say anything, just slid several sheets of paper across the desk.
Max looked at a series of emails and charts, his lightning-quick brain processing the words on the page as disbelief grew into a mushroom cloud of epic proportions.
Madden Sr. had gone on a purchasing spree of obscene amounts of weapons, chemicals, and large pieces of land in locations all over the world. Missives arranging those transactions were written in Russian, Spanish, Korean, and Arabic.
That rioting ball of what-the-fuck sparked again in Max’s gut. “Are you telling me that my father is planning a terrorist attack?”
“No. Total world domination.”
A full minute ticked by before Max let out a huge belly laugh and melted in his seat. Intense relief drained into his frantically beating heart, leaving him dizzy.
“Man, you really had me going.” He slapped the papers across his thigh. “My father bilking people out of millions of dollars I totally believe, but ‘total world domination’?” he repeated in a spooky the-end-is-near voice. “That’s funny. I almost bought it. Almost.” He sighed and wiped the tears from his eyes, getting to his feet. “Now, where’s your Scotch?”
“Max.” Anthony latched onto his wrist with a bruising grip. “I’m not joking. Exaggerating, maybe, but he’s working on something huge, like military coup huge. Matthew is building an army. Look at what’s happening in Portugal, in Greece. Brazil! Jesus, man, who backed 65 percent of the eleven billion dollars in loans they took out to fund the Olympics? And who’s going to foreclose on them?”
“Madden,” Max mumbled.
“Greece and Brazil were just the test runs. Look at how divided our country is now. The West Coast states are threatening to secede, for Christ’s sake. When the United States collapses, there will be chaos and desperation the likes of which we have never seen. He is setting himself up in the ultimate position of power. I’ve seen him go off to closed-door meetings with leaders of third-world countries. He claims it’s to negotiate the conditions to help them rebuild their economies, but I know that’s a lie. He’s providing them with money, weapons, and drugs in return for their loyalty. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is dealing with terrorist organizations. Max, I—I don’t know what—” he broke off and tugged at his hair again.
The reality of the situation sank into Max like a bad sunburn. His father, the man who for years tried to fleece every ounce of brain power Max produced, who used his wife’s family connections in the government to further his own financial agenda, who walked upon the earth as if it were created just for his pleasure, was setting himself up to take over the world.
Max stood before Anthony, and for the first time lacked a smart comeback or ready answer. Staring at his friend, he now understood why the man looked as if he had stuck his finger in the light socket after a night of heavy drinking. Actually, that Scotch was sounding pretty good right then.
“What do you plan on doing?” Max asked, the softness of his voice at odds with the enormity of the situation. “Who else have you told this to?”
Anthony shook his head. “No one. I didn’t want to risk endangering anyone else. And you’re the only one I trust not to betray me.”
“Have you contacted the authorities?”
“I can’t. Do you think they can protect me from that?” Anthony looked at him, his eyes shiny with helplessness. “Max, I’ve been marked for death.”
“What?”
“I think your father knows I’ve been collecting evidence. He’s been shutting me out of discussions about the company all week. Today was the first day I spoke with him and he asked me about my plans for the weekend, about whether I would be home or not. He said it was in case I would be up for a round of golf.” He tittered with borderline insanity. “Can you believe that? Golf? He has to be sending a hit out after me.”
Max’s heart sank. If he believed only a morsel of what Anthony was saying, then he knew that Madden would do whatever it took to stop the evidence against him from getting out.
Max leaned over, bracing his hot hands on the cold desk. “Then what the fuck are we doing here? You have money. Why are you not on the first flight out of here?”
“I needed to talk to you first.”
“No, no. Skip town and then call me. That’s what phones are for.”
“I’m sorry.” Anthony tossed his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been marked for death before. I’m a little out of my element here.” He removed the flash drive from his laptop and held it out. “Take this. If anything happens to me, you have to get the word out. You have to stop him. How many different governments and agencies have sent men after you to convince you to work for them? And you’ve outsmarted every one. If anyone can stop Madden, it’s you.”
Max placed the drive in his coat pocket. “Look, Anthony, I can protect—” The shrill ring of Anthony’s cell phone cut him off.
Anthony stared at the display, his eyes widened in horror. “Oh God, already?”
“What is it?”
He held a finger up to his lips and whispered, “I set the security alarm so if anyone crossed the barriers around the property it would ring to my phone. Someone’s approaching the house.”
Max aimed his palm in the direction of the office door across the room. It shut with a bang, the lock clicking into place. The wet bar slid smoothly in front of the door as he waved his other hand in the direction of the lamp, turning it off and plunging them into darkness. “I’m not going to let you die.”
Anthony stared at him in shock as the swirling glow of the laptop’s screen saver painted his face to look like a Salvador Dali painting. His mouth opened and shut twice before he wheezed, “How—”
The ping of breaking glass made them both drop to the ground as bullets shredded the windows and heavy curtains.
Max rolled across the floor. With his back flat to the wall, he inched up the plaster to peek through the tattered rain-soaked curtain and out the broken window. A shadow ghosted sideways across the lawn. He glanced at Anthony, who lay sprawled on the ground, his hands covering his head.
“Are you hit?” Max whispered.
Anthony cautiously lifted his head. “No. You?”
Max shook his head. “I saw one outside. Can your security system detect how many there might be?”
“No. You were still working on that program when you installed the system.”
Max grunted and leaned against the wall. His brain fired, racing to form a plan. Plans were good, plans kept you alive.
He considered the layout of the house and where the Ferrari was parked near the garage. If they could get to the Beast, they could outrun anything. His breath let out in a low growl. Oh, if those assholes touched his car…
Max reached out and grabbed Anthony by the back of the collar and heaved. “Stay close to me.”
They crawled along the floor to the door. When they got there, Max slid the wet bar over and strained to hear through to the other side. When nothing but silence met his ears, he eased the door open.
A barrage of bullets ricocheted above his head, showering him with bits of splintered wood.
“Holy shit,” he exclaimed. White spots danced in his vision as a second spike in his adrenaline burst through his system.
Focus, focus. Pretend it’s just a video game and get the fuck out of there.
He sucked in a breath, then another as the tingling began again in his hands. He peered through the slim opening. In the shadows, two figures dressed in black huddled near the front entrance. The smoking AK-47s in their hands glinted in what little light came in through the windows.
From his position, Max spotted the heavy, buttery leather couches in the living room. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the furniture soaring across the room toward the assailants. The crash of broken wood and smashed plaster drowned out their howls screams of surprise and pain.
“Now, now!” Max shouted, bursting out into the hallway with Anthony. Racing toward the kitchen, Max kept Anthony in front of him as he watched out for more gunmen who might have followed.
The kitchen had two escape routes: to the patio or to the garage. Without knowing how many others were out there, Max figured both could be covered. Which to choose? Enclosed space or out in the open?
The moment his feet hit the tile of the kitchen, the patio door in front of them shattered. He pushed Anthony to the floor behind the island then raised both hands. Using the deck chairs outside as missiles, he hurled the furniture toward the direction of the attack just as a grenade sailed through the doorway to land at his feet.
He shouted in surprise as his reflexes took over and he kicked the grenade back out the door as if he were lobbing the winning goal in the World Cup.
Seconds later the explosion rocked the log house as a choked yell ripped through the dark. The stench of burnt flesh confirmed that another gunman was taken care of.
More shouts, in Russian and Italian, came from the front of the house.
“Who the hell did they send after you?” he asked Anthony.
Anthony struggled to his feet, his eyes bulging. “What the fuck, Max? How are you doing that?”
“Not now.”
On their left, the door to the garage flew open, followed by another volley of bullets. Anthony grunted and fell into Max. Blood seeped through his shirtsleeve.
“Anthony!” Max locked his knees to prevent them from collapsing.
Juggling Anthony’s taller frame, he frantically looked around the kitchen for a weapon and spotted the knives sticking out of the wood block across the way. The moment the gunman cleared the door, Max launched every knife in the man’s direction, embedding one deep into his torso. A giant butcher blade nearly decapitated him as it lodged into the wall.
God damn. Well… that was way nastier than it looked like in the movies.
Oh no.
Bile rose in his throat and his abdominal muscles clenched, threatening to unload the contents of his stomach as the stench of blood filled his nostrils.
It had been years since he had been witness to so much blood. Years since the acrid metallic scent had flooded his senses and robbed him of thought.
“Come on,” he choked as he tamped down the nightmarish memories. Hefting Anthony under the arms, he dragged him to the garage.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall after them as Anthony’s shoe caught on the top step, tumbling both of them down the short flight of stairs. Max landed flat on his back, his head smacking on the concrete. Stars flashed in his eyes, blinding him for a moment.
The patter of rain on asphalt drew his attention. The garage door was up, but the rain and blackness made visibility shit. In the dark, he could barely make out the sleek outline of his Ferrari near the bushes. He dug into his pocket for his keys and pushed the start button on the fob. The engine roared to life and ignited a spark of hope. The loud pounding of his heart drowned out the din of rain as he waited to see if the car had been rigged with explosives. When his baby remained in one piece, he whispered a prayer of thanks.
He reached out a hand and willed the car closer. Anthony was in no condition for a dash across the driveway.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he grunted.
The three-and-a-half-ton machine barely moved an inch. Max slumped on the ground, exhausted, his lungs burning with exertion. Damn, that thing was heavy.
Anthony struggled to his knees with a groan, his back to the door of the house.
Goddammit, didn’t the man have any instincts for self-preservation? Max hauled the bleeding man behind Anthony’s shiny blue BMW as more shots were fired from the kitchen.
Max flung everything within range at the door with what was left of his powers: tools, shovels, bags of fertilizer. “Come on, Anthony. We just need to make it to my car.”
“Okay,” he panted, wincing.
“Follow me. Shit,” Max muttered as his knees started to buckle, but he forced the starch back in his legs. “On three. One, two, three.”
They popped up and sprinted for the Ferrari in a macabre version of three-legged race, Max supporting Anthony around the waist.
Rain soaked Max’s hair and his soggy bangs flopped into his eyes, further obscuring his vision. Next to him, Anthony yelped and went down, hitting the asphalt hard. Max turned to see a cable around Anthony’s ankles stretch taut as he was pulled back into the inky black of the garage as the articulated door began to close. The metal came down between them as Max dove for Anthony’s outstretched hands.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Cement scraped the skin off his knuckles as Max tried to jam his fingers under the door. Shit, it was locked. He scrambled back to use his powers to lift the steel. Metal grated on metal, screeching like a banshee.
Never had he been tasked to use his powers to such an extreme. With his energy depleted, his powers were shot. His head ached and his limbs felt as substantial as a deflated balloon, but he kept going. He had to keep going.
He was not going to lose another one. Not again. Never again.
Suddenly, it was as if all his senses fired at once as the rest of the world seemed to fall silent. A ringing filled in his ears while his vision sharpened, and it was as though a million needles pricked his skin. A second later, the world tore asunder as an explosion rocked the earth.
Anthony’s house rent in two, the mushroom cloud of debris and flames briefly turning night into day. The concussive wave sent Max flying through the air. Instinct kicked in, but the last of his powers barely cushioned his fall into the rose bushes near the driveway. The thorny limbs tangled in his clothes and hair as he struggled to stand.
His stomach twisted as he watched ash and rain fall from the sky. Orange and white flames consumed every piece of wood and fabric like a gluttonous monster.
Nothing but the sound of the rain and the crackle of the fire met his ears. No screams, no cries for help. No sound of life.
Anthony was dead. His friend gone.
With a bellow of rage, he flung his arms out wide. All around him the foliage flattened as if it were all smashed to the ground by an avalanche of boulders as his screams were swallowed by the roar of the fire.
The light of the yellow and orange flames danced across the slick leather of his coat as if they were celebrating the creation of a new breed of devil. A demon forged with a hunger for revenge only one man could satisfy.
The sins of the father demanded restitution. And the son would see it done. No cost was too great. No sacrifice too big. The death of his friend would not go unavenged.
CHAPTER TWO
“Here you go, Max.” Noel Dietrich, lawyer extraordinaire of the rich and powerful, pushed a thick accordion file across the tabletop. “Everything that belonged to Anthony is now yours.”
“Great,” Max replied in a whisper. He rested his hand on the dark red file. The crimson color was fitting, since the contents held the life’s blood of Anthony DeMateo.
Was this really happening? Was he actually sitting in the middle of your average, run-of-the-mill coffee house, holding all that remained of the man who had given him his first video game? Who had sent him care packages when he started college at the tender age of twelve, and stood by his side as they lowered his mother’s casket into the ground? Three inches of paper and a couple of metal brads. That was all that was left.
Around them the murmurs of conversation and the roar of an espresso machine faded as the realization that he was truly alone in the world seeped into his bones. The horrors of the week before ran on a constant loop, robbing him of sleep and leaving him numb. Carnage. There had been so much carnage, the memory alone forced forcing him to take a deep breath to still the rioting that had yet to subside in his gut.
Did he regret the actions he took in the effort to save his and Anthony’s hides? No. He just wished he could have been more effective. One, in saving’s Anthony’s life, and two, being able to find at least one of the assailants to interrogate. On both counts he failed.
With the house engulfed in flames, it had been impossible to search for any survivors. And even Max knew that to wait around for the fire department would only place him in trouble. The fact that the fire was only a ten-second blip on the evening news and a three-paragraph story buried on the third page of the newspaper hinted that there wasn’t going to be a deeper investigation beyond the theory that it had been a gas leak that had caused the explosion. And now that almost a week had gone by without any further development, Max was certain of it.
It didn’t take much of a stretch for Max to reason why there was so little being reported on the grisly death of one of Madden Financial’s executives. From what Max had read in Anthony’s notes, Madden had his fingers in so many pots, it was a wonder how he managed his busy scandal sheet–fodder social life.
God, what a mess.
And now he was not only responsible for stopping his father, he was also in charge of Anthony’s estate. At least the decision Max had made about how he was going to manage that task had been an easy one to make, and fitting for the man he had loved as a father.
He slid the file back toward Dietrich as his eyes stung with tears. “Give it away,” he said, his voice catching.
Dietrich paused, a cup of espresso hovering at his lips. “Excuse me?”
Max pulled a sheaf of papers from his inside jacket pocket and laid it on the table between them. The leather of his coat bore the battle scars from that hellish night but gave him fortitude of what had to be done. “Sell it all and divide the proceeds between these charities.”
The older man let loose with raucous laughter that turned into a hearty chuckle before dying a slow death as Max continued to stare at him with unwavering determination. “Are you shitting me?” the man shouted.
