He staggered across the floor and knelt beside the body. Carefully he placed two fingers on the side of his father's neck (the old billiard ball trick wouldn't stop a pulse there) and felt the heartbeat at once, weak but regular. Em shook him, and his father groaned.

"Got to get you out of here," Em murmured. There was the woomph sound of a small explosion behind him, and he glanced back to discover that a sofa in the penthouse was now burning fiercely. It would not be long before the whole suite was engulfed. He shook his father again. "Can you hear me?" he shouted urgently into his ear.

His father groaned again, louder this time, then said quite distinctly, "Hit my head."

"Can you get up, Dad?"

"What for?"

Em almost smiled. "The place is-" He stopped abruptly. He'd been about to say "The place is on fire" when another thought struck him. Instead he said, "You have to order the evacuation, Dad. The bombs have started going off."

His father lay where he was. His eyes were open but glazed. In the main living area of the penthouse, soft furnishings had caught fire and were blazing fiercely. Em was painfully aware that if they were to get out, they would have to pass through this area. At the moment it was possible, but given the rate the fire was spreading, it would not be possible for long. He turned back and slid his arm underneath his father's shoulder. "Stand up, Dad. You have to stand up."

His father made an effort, drawing one extended foot beneath his body and pushing down with both arms. Em tugged on his shoulder, marveling at how heavy he felt for such a slightly built man. "Come on," Em urged. "You can do it, Dad!"

Professor Goverton clasped the edge of his desk and made a gargantuan effort. Em shoved fiercely, and together they got his father to his feet. "The microphone," Em gasped. Another waft of smoke filled his lungs, and he dissolved into a further fit of coughing. When he recovered, he asked, "Can you use the microphone?"

His father was trembling, but at least so far he seemed to be immune to the effects of the smoke. He swallowed and said distinctly, "Yes."

"You have to order an evacuation," Em urged him. "The explosions-" He began to cough again and this time could not stop. After a moment he bent double and managed to clear his lungs. "Do it now," he gasped. Maybe it was the smoke, but a horrible feeling had crept over him that he was leaving it too late: by insisting that his father take time to order the evacuation, he was condemning them both to death. The building was well and truly alight now. There was every chance that if they left it even a minute longer, the flames would cut off their escape.

But what option did Em have? The other charges were bound to go off any second now. The people had to be warned. "Come on, Dad; do it for me. You know it's the right thing. You must know it's the right thing!"

Something changed in his father's face. He leaned over the desk and reached for the microphone. Em wanted to believe his father did know it was the right thing but had no real idea what was going on in his mind.

But his father did know what he was doing. He pressed a button on the control panel, then typed in some numbers, presumably an access code. "Tell them to get out fast!" Em urged unnecessarily. He glanced behind him to discover that a wall of flame had almost cut off the doorway.

"Evacuation Code Five Eight," his father said into the microphone. He coughed smoke, but only for a moment, then said, "Authorization IGM 1." Then he slumped forward across the desk, sending the mike crashing to the floor with a sweep of one arm.

"Is that it?" Em leaped forward. It could be an emergency evacuation code, but his father hadn't mentioned fire or explosions or danger, and Em couldn't be sure. Except that being sure hardly mattered now, because his father was unconscious again, and Em knew he had seconds left at most to get them out of here. He pulled his father's free arm around his shoulder and tugged him upright. "Come on, Dad. We have to get out of here!"

Professor Goverton was not a big man. But he was swimming in and out of consciousness so that Em had to half drag him away from the desk and toward the door. The fire was blocking their way completely now, but Em did not hesitate, could not hesitate. His father's head was hanging down. Em used his free arm to cover his own eyes and dragged them both directly through the wall of flame. The gamble paid off, and they emerged on the other side with nothing worse than a smell of singed hair. But the respite was momentary. He could see at once that almost the entire penthouse was engulfed now. Heavy smoke obscured the far wall, but he thought he remembered where the door was. Whether he could find a clear path to it was another matter. His father seemed to have passed out again and turned into a dead weight. Em wasn't at all sure he could carry him much farther.

He managed half a dozen steps before his father came to again. "Bloody Section!" he screamed, and jerked himself out of Em's grip.

"Dad!" Em shouted. "Wrong way! The door's-"

There was a resounding crack above their heads. His father tripped and fell, sprawling heavily on the carpeted floor. "Dad!" Em screamed again, and launched himself toward him. There was a rushing sound and an avalanche of sparks and flame as the roof collapsed. Something caught Em with incredible violence across the side of his face.

Then the fire went out and there was only darkness.

Chapter 49.

The darkness lasted an eternity, but a time came at last when Em slowly swam upward. "What happened?" he asked. His voice sounded far away; and he had no idea where he was, except that there was no smoke, no flames. He was on his back, and his overall impression was of whiteness. It occurred to him that he might be looking at a ceiling.

"You're safe now," said a familiar voice.

"Mmmm," Em said. He knew he was safe, needed no reassurance; but he could not place the voice, which was annoying. He remembered fire and smoke as if he'd been in a burning building. He remembered an important microphone, but not why it was important. The side of his head ached badly, and he was unable to open one eye.

Victor's face swam into view. Then Charlotte's, then Em's mother's. They were standing together by the side of his bed. At the sight of them, a cascade of memories came crashing back. "How did I get out?" he asked quietly.

"I dragged you," Victor said. "Had to break down the door to get in."

So Victor had braved the fire to rescue him. "How's Dad?"

There was one of those long, silent pauses that told you everything you needed to know. That, and the frozen looks on their faces. All the same, he had to hear it. He could have aimed his question at his mother, or Charlotte, but he chose to ask Victor. "Will you tell me?"

"He didn't make it," Victor said finally.

"Dead?" Em asked, just to be certain.

"Yes," Victor said, then paused before adding, "he ordered the evacuation."

"I know." That bit Em remembered clearly.

Nobody seemed particularly anxious to talk. After a while Em said, "Where am I?"

"Clinic in Nogales," Victor told him. "It's very well equipped. Section made the arrangements."

He must have been unconscious for at least an hour to allow them time to get him to Nogales. He reached up cautiously to touch his aching face and found it had been bandaged. "How long have I been here?"

"Eleven days."

"Eleven days?!" Em struggled to sit up.

"You're not supposed to move, darling," his mother said anxiously, speaking for the first time.

"You've been in a coma," Victor told him. "The doctors induced it because there was some brain swelling. I'm sorry about your father. I had to choose between you and him, but I think it was too late for him anyway."

They couldn't have delayed a funeral, not in this heat. "Then Dad's . . . ?"

The others left that to Victor as well. "Gone."

Again, Em thought, and was seized by a ghastly urge to giggle. Instead, he licked dry lips and tasted antiseptic on the bandage at one side of his mouth. To Victor he said, "I want to know what happened. Did you set your charges off early?"

Victor shook his head. "It was an accident. A faulty timer. We could never have foreseen it."

"So Dad needn't have died?" Even as he said it, Em thought about his father's refusal to evacuate the compound. Maybe Em hadn't persuaded him that it was the right thing to do. Maybe he'd only agreed when he thought it was too late. Before Victor could answer his question, he asked another. "Was the compound evacuated?"

"Mostly," Victor said.

"What about your other charges?"

"They exploded as planned. Vaccine stocks and manufacturing facilities were destroyed."

Em voiced something that had been on his mind for a while. "The Knights will only rebuild. They'll do it all again."

Victor shook his head. "Perhaps not. There was internal disagreement about your father's policies-more than we realized. Now that he's gone . . ." He shrugged. "But if they do try again-mass murder or any other nasty scheme-we'll be ready."

Em sank back in the bed and closed his eyes. "At least next time I won't be involved." He felt a warm touch and opened his eyes again to find that Charlotte was standing beside the bed and had taken his hand. She smiled down at him, and there was something in her eyes that seemed . . . mischievous, as if she was harboring a secret.

Victor coughed. "Well, you never know where life may lead you," he said mysteriously.

They'd been plotting something, Em thought suddenly, and wondered if it had to do with Section 7. He closed his eyes again as his own words floated back to him: At least next time I won't be involved.

Maybe he'd spoken just a bit too soon.

About the Author.

HERBIE BRENNAN is the New York Times bestselling author of the Faerie Wars series and the Shadow Project Adventure series. Worldwide, his books have sold in excess of 8.5 million copies. He lives in Ireland. You can visit him online at www.herbiebrennan.com.

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