Then he pulled off his mask and helmet with a stage-fencer's flourish.
Orman and the cop with the gold tooth suddenly relaxed visibly. So did Rath, at least a little, when he saw their reactions.
'What's the problem, Sarge?' Rath asked Orman, trying hard to project an image of legitimate confusion.
'Nothing, Palfrey. Just thought it was a little strange that you hadn't taken off your gear yet. “
Rath grinned for the benefit of Orman and the other cops. Like Orman, he had to shout to be heard over the chopper noise. 'Just thought some of the gas might still be blowing around out here. I got a double lungful of World Trade Center dust last year at Ground Zero, and thought I was gonna cough up a lung. Can't be too careful, you know? “
Orman nodded silently. Though he and the other cops were no longer looking askance at him, Rath saw something peculiar in the sergeant's eyes. The man looked haunted.
After having seen the freaks' human hosts crumble away into so many Pixie Sticks, Rath could certainly understand why.
Pain suddenly lanced through Rath's head. He recognized it immediately. He knew he had to get out of sight right away. If anyone saw him lose control of his shape-changing ability, he'd be right in everybody's crosshairs within a heartbeat.
Then, just when Rath thought he couldn't endure the agony of holding his current shape for another second, Orman shouted something. 'Dismissed, Palfrey. I want you to cordon off the crime scene, then head back to the station.' Orman turned and headed across the parking lot toward one of the armored police vans. The other cops who had been looking on drifted away, intent on whatever duties they needed to perform.
Still doing his best to hang on to Palfrey's face, Rath turned back toward the government Humvee, around which several MiBs were still swarming. He could see a driver in the cockpit, obviously preparing to get the vehicle underway. A second MiB sat on the passenger side, apparently riding shotgun. Not far away, the black helicopter was beginning to rise into the air.
As far as Rath could tell, no one was paying much attention to him at the moment. And he knew that if he didn't somehow get Lonnie and Ava free of the Humvee right now, he wouldn't get another chance.
If he hesitated, he might never see Lonnie again. It's now or never.
Discarding the gas mask on the blacktop, Rath donned the riot helmet again and relaxed his concentration slightly, letting his features return to normal, including his spiky Mohawk. Thanks to the helmet and uniform, none of the MiBs, army guys, or riot cops… all of whom were busy at the moment with their appointed tasks… seemed to notice his transformation.
He walked briskly to the other side of the Humvee, the side that faced away from the warehouse and the people milling about it. He stepped into the tall vehicle's blind spot just as the last of the MiBs and military people got inside and disappeared behind the dark-tinted windows of the rear compartment.
Crouching so that no one within the cockpit or the passenger compartment could see him, he quickly approached the drivers side door. He discarded his helmet, removed one of his black gloves, and placed his hand on the door lock. With his other hand, he unhol-stered the police-issue Glock nine-millimeter pistol he had taken from Palfrey.
His ungloved hand glowed a dull red as he forced as much power as he could muster into the door mechanism. Though he felt somewhat dizzy from the effort, he ignored the sensation and tugged on the door handle with both hands. It swung open without any resistance.
Rath tried to take full advantage of the surprise etched across the faces of both men in the Humvee's cockpit. The MiB who rode shotgun went down quickly when Rath force-fed him a mouthful of Glock handle. Shoving the unconscious man across the Humvee's wide dashboard, Rath swung the barrel of his pistol toward the wide-eyed driver, who was already exercising the better part of valor by raising his empty hands over his head.
'Good boy,' Rath said, staring daggers at the driver as he concentrated on changing his appearance to match that of the man behind the wheel.
All at once, the pain in his head returned, this time with a vengeance. Rath felt as though someone had plunged blazing pokers into both of his eyes, and he shut them for a moment as the waves of agony washed over him. He was pushing his powers too hard, and he knew it.
His eyes flew open when something heavy struck him in the chest, and he felt himself turn weightless for a moment. He found himself plummeting backward out of the passenger-side door, gravity and the driver's relentless weight bearing him down to a painful impact with the blacktop beside the vehicle's front wheels.
Rath's breath fled his body when he struck the ground, and now the driver had the advantage. The gun skittered away on the pavement, but the driver ignored it, raining blows onto Rath's face, giving him no opportunity to dodge or regain his feet.
Concentrating, Rath released a focused blast of energy through his hand, slamming the driver into the side of the Humvee. The black-suited man slumped to the blacktop, unconscious.
Half-stunned himself, Rath rose to his feet and tried to re-enter the Humvee. Through the half-open door, he could see the driver's keys dangling in the ignition. Though still exhausted, he felt his confidence begin to rebound. Maybe there really is a chance to pull this rescue off.
'Freeze!' shouted someone behind him.
Rath turned slowly and found himself facing a trio or armed MiBs. Don't panic, he told himself, focusing past the pain that was all but perforating his head. Just hang on to this face for a while longer. Maybe I can fool 'em just long enough to take the Humvee.
'Boy am I glad to see you guys,' Rath said, trying to look relieved to be rescued. He pointed at the driver, who lay on the ground beside the Humvee. 'That guy was trying to impersonate me and steal the prisoners. “
The agents looked at each other, clearly uncertain. Absurdly, Rath remembered an old Star Trek episode he'd seen recently on the stolen cable-TV rig he'd set up down in the sewer-level lair of the Royal Three. You might have to shoot us both, Spock.
Rath decided he didn't like that idea much. He was aware that the more time these guys had to think about it, the less chance he had of being believed. And he also knew the agents had probably already raised the alarm, via their ear-wires. Reinforcements would be here any second, ready to shoot first and ask questions later.
Suddenly, one of the agents pointed at Rath, then said something to his companions. Rath couldn't hear him over the helicopter noise, but he did manage to read the man's lips.
Look at his face! Rath put a hand up to his brow and immediately confirmed what he already suspected. As his overall power-level waned, so did his ability to hold the shape he'd just adopted. The skin on his face was shifting and bubbling, like water boiling in a pot.
Time had finally run out. Rath decided that waiting any longer could only get him killed, along with Lonnie and Ava.
Diving to the ground to make himself a more difficult target, Rath expended another bolt of raw power in the direction of the armed agents. One of the MiBs went down hard, and the two others responded by hitting the dirt while simultaneously training their weapons in his direction. No one else was running toward them, which Rath took as an encouraging sign.
He released another bolt of energy, and another MiB went down, even as the last one got up and ran toward him, brandishing a strange-looking pistol as he approached.
Rath turned back toward the Humvee's still-open passenger-side door and dived for the cockpit, trusting that the agent wouldn't shoot him in the back. The Feds want to capture us first. The killing part comes later.
He landed on the seat, then turned to grab the door.
